Nevarmore
by RobinRocks
Summary: A Poe smattered Elseworlds Teen Titans tale of horror, set in Gotham City, 1845. Can Robin, a traveling slayer of all things monstrous, put a stop to the string of vampire like serial killings known as… The Raven Murders? RobinxStarfire
1. The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Friday 31st October, 1845_

_Today, as I have been before, I was asked why I do what I do._

_Why I might wish to endanger myself each and every day, when I could lead a safer and more respectable lifestyle._

_My reply was, as it always is, that someone must do this job; someone must fight those forces that prey on our kind._

_These unholy apparitions which slay the innocent and devastate lives untold._

_If I can fight; if I have the knowledge, the skill, the equipment, then surely it would be **less** becoming of me **not** to fight these demons? For that is what they are; creatures of the unknown, taken from stories for children._

_And yet they walk among us._

_Most cannot fight them, and so they live in terror, immersing themselves in prayer and superstition._

_I myself have always found that more firepower is needed when dealing with such things._

_As it happens, I have noticed the increase in supernatural activity of late; I am constantly on the move from town to town, city to city. I was never required to move around this much before, but these past few months have given rise to the numbers of them. One might assume this is connected with climate change or population increases._

_For now, I cannot be sure._

_In this world, I know of only one thing; my time on this earth may be limited, but before the Reaper comes for me, he will be kept busy with the sands of those monsters and specters I will dispatch to a world beyond this._

_To the fellow today, I maintained that my personal reasons for my particular occupation were my own; and as for my partial answer that someone must do this, he replied that he would rather me than him._

_I could not agree more, sir._

_For sometimes, I admit that I even partly **enjoy** what I do._

_This evening I finally cornered and slayed the foul beast that had prowled the city for weeks now – the city in which I for now reside. It has the peculiar name of "Metropolis"; as of yet I cannot discern why it may be called this name. I am sharing my temporary quarters with a journalist named Mr Clark Kent, whom has stated that he finds my journals fascinating._

_He in fact congratulated me tonight on my destruction of the thing; and thanked me. Both notions have perhaps been the most sincere I have heard so far. _

_In all of the cities I have been to, I find myself dealing with the same kinds of folk; there are those in a minority, like Mr Kent, who have called me a hero._

_Most call me a fool._

_Opinions matter nothing to me; it is a case of needing to make a living. I have been trained to fight and if people are willing to **pay** me to rid them of "problems", why shirk their offers?_

_Tonight, I have rid Metropolis of its fearsome prowling being; and tomorrow I bid this city and my acquaintance Mr Kent farewell._

_This evening's paper featured an article on something that seems to be another calling for me; and so tomorrow, another city._

_A city called Gotham. _


	2. Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Mwa ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! A very happy Halloween to you all! Quite honestly, it's no secret how much I adore this holiday, so I thought I'd celebrate! Last year, I marked the occasion with a little one-shot that has since blossomed into the strangely-popular, infamous, co-written, RobinxSlade slash as-of-yet-still-unfinished "masterpiece" known as S_mall Print_. Yep, that brutal little ficcie is one year old today! Aww…

But we're not here to talk about that. Nope, today I bring you something a little more befitting of the nature of Halloween. If you are one of my loyal _Remember the Titans_ readers who came here today after reading my shameless plug in yesterday's update, thankyou so much! HUGS!

For anyone else, be you a reader of my stuff (but not _RTT_) or just a newbie to my weird little world… This fic is an Elseworlds piece, set in 1845. It is heavily influenced by the works of the wonderful Edgar Allan Poe; and I am not some emo who pretends to love the guy because his work is… "goth". I really _do_ love Poe's stuff. He had a beautiful writing style; it's almost visual, which sounds weird, I know, but the way he structured his sentences is almost gothic in itself. I can't explain it very well, but he's definitely one of my favorite writers. Although my old English teacher _did_ have a rather strange fascination with _The Telltale Heart_…

In context, this fic is actually inspired by a _Batman_ Elseworlds five-issue mini-series called _Nevermore_, published between June-October 2003. It's very good, although not very well-known. This storyline is not really similar to it in any way, but a few of the ideas are borrowed from it. As _for_ this fic… It is set in 1845 because that is the year _The Raven_ was first published. It would help if you maybe read over the poem before/after reading this to familiarize yourself with it (I know, now I'm setting freaking _homework_…). This is because there are lines from the poem slipped in here and there, and you will obviously appreciate them a great deal more if you recognize them. There are more in later chapters (this will have around seven chapters, with the journal entries fitted in between as extras).

Language-wise… The dialogue spoken by the characters is (pretty) authentically Victorian (I will call it Victorian since I don't know what you would have called that time period in the US; it was the Victorian age in Britain), but the actual narrative (he said, she did, etc) is in modern language. It does create a rather weird mish-mash of styles, but I didn't want to go too OTT and make this a chore to read.

Due to the dialogue style, the characters will seem OOC (particularly Beast Boy) but that can't be helped. Personality-wise, I have tried to keep them in character, but the dialogue has hindered that considerably.

This fic has elements of _Van Helsing_, _Constantine_ (with compliments to Mr Quinn and His Quill), _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, _Hellsing_; and obviously the core for all of these is Bram Stoker's _Dracula_. Due to the nature of it, the fic is Christian-based, specifically Catholic. No offence intended to those of other faiths – but following the general pattern laid out by the above (with the exception of _Hellsing_, which is Protestant), it seemed fitting. I do not intend to imply that the Titans in reality are all Catholic (I mean, Starfire worships X'Hal and Raven worships Azar, to start with…). But then again, this _is_ Elseworlds.

So yeah, just setting that straight.

One final thing before we start. This is set in 1845; slavery in the US wasn't abolished until 1861 (by Abe Lincoln – yay for the Brit knowing her American history!). Therefore, an African-American such as Cyborg would not have been in the highly respected occupation which he is in this (a priest). However, there was _no way_ I was leaving Cy out because of stupid greedy slavers 150 years ago, so I ignored it. Just so no-one takes me up on that.

Oh, and the title? It's not a typo – this fic is called _Nev**a**rmore_, not _Nev**e**rmore_.

Why?

Spell "Nevar" backwards and tell me what you get.

_Nevarmore – I_

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Stepping down from the cab into the murky street, shrouded by a dim morning mist, the boy of many names – too many names for his liking – slung his bag over his shoulder and looked up the street; as the driver gave a slap of the reins and the empty cab moved off.

Despite the fact that he didn't know where he was, and what direction in which he should be headed, he was not worried.

It was a familiar feeling by now; this strange sense of bewilderment every time he came to a new city.

This city, in terms of its modernisms, was much like any other he had been to; but in _architecture_…

He gave a little shiver.

The buildings were positively gruesome; leering, towering creations wrought of stone, gargoyles and carvings sticking at odd angles.

He may have wondered why _Metropolis_ had such a name; but _Gotham_… The reason for _this_ name was all too clear.

He looked down at the newspaper in his hand again; one from Metropolis, entitled _The Daily Planet_, which Mr. Kent had been a writer for.

This was yesterday's edition, reporting on the strange string of murders that had been taking place in Gotham City for over a week now.

And a string it was; serial killings, and yet ones that the local authorities could not seem to deal with.

To the slayer, it had seemed to be another calling for him.

And so he had come.

He started to walk, re-reading the article as he went. It was a day out of date – he really needed some fresher information if he was to get to the bottom of this. So far, five people had been murdered; a day and night had passed since then.

There could have been a sixth victim by now.

The church would be dealing with the burials of the bodies, he presumed; that was truly where he needed to go. The priests were usually the most knowledgeable in these situations, usually because they had knowledge of the creatures which caused these killings and phenomena; most often, the ways of slaying were strongly tied to the Bible. He was not predominantly religious (Christian – Catholic – he supposed, more than anything else; not that he was particularly bothered about it either way), but he wasn't adverse to wearing a crucifix for protection or blasting a vampire with holy water to get the job done.

After walking for a while, he resigned to the fact that he had no idea where he was going and hopped another cab, asking to be taken to the church.

He rested his head in his hands as he watched the grey gothic world go by through the window.

Today, Saturday 1st November, 1845, _Robin_ had answered the cries of Gotham City.

And the "Raven Murderer" was in very serious trouble.

Crucifix-engraved, stake-sharpened, holy water-doused trouble.

**TT**

"…Now you just sit down here, Mr Logan," Father Victor Stone said kindly, helping the young man into a chair at the kitchen table. "I know it is hard…"

The young man in question – not much more than a boy, really – gave a weak little nod, wiping the tears from his large green eyes.

"Thankyou for… your kindness, Father Stone…" he sniffled.

The mocha-skinned priest gave a small smile.

"What else do you expect at this time… Beast Boy?"

Garfield Logan wiped fiercely at his eyes again.

"She… _she_ used to… call me that…"

He started to sob again and the priest sat next to him, placing a hand on his small shaking shoulder.

"I—"

He was interrupted by a loud rapping at the chamber door; rising, Father Stone went to the door and heaved the big black lock upwards, swinging the heavy door open.

There, on the threshold, was a boy not much older than sixteen; with brilliant jet black hair falling across his forehead, and clothed in similar ebony – black pants, a black jacket, under which was a white shirt and loose black cravat. His slightly scary-looking outfit was completed by his black leather boots, a long black coat thrown over the whole attire, the pack thrown over one shoulder, and, strangest yet, the black mask covering his eyes.

The priest stared at him for a moment—

"_Robin_?"

Robin looked equally stunned as he looked up at the priest.

He actually gave a little smile.

"Cyborg? This is a pleasure; I had no idea you were in Gotham."

"Cyborg" frowned.

"That's Father Stone to you, Richard Grayson."

"You're a Father now?" Robin's smile broadened further. "Congratulations. When I left Jump City, you were only a Brother."

"Things have changed…"

"I claim to know that." Robin held up the newspaper. "This kind of thing is becoming regular news of late, I fear."

The priest nodded, then stepped back.

"I should have known that was why you were here. Please, do come in…"

"You know I will require your assistance with this," Robin said as he stepped into the kitchen. "Anything that you might know that could be of some use to me…"

"You shall have all the help you require, my friend," Father Stone assured him, "but please, let us just sit awhile for now. Rest, and then we shall discuss this troubling problem."

"Ever the procrastinator, Cyborg…"

"Cyborg" frowned deeply as he shut the door behind him.

"I'd prefer it if you would refer to me by the title I worked so hard to achieve, Richard."

"And _I_ would prefer "Robin", _Father Stone_," Robin intoned dryly, dropping his bag to the stone floor of the parish house.

"A new fancy of yours, I presume?"

"Something like that…"

"And the mask?"

Robin shrugged off his coat; the shrug doubling as one of rebuke.

"As before, my reasons are my own."

The priest gave a little nod.

"Well, you always did dare to be different," he admitted. "Your… rather _interesting_ occupation taken into account, of course."

"Why settle for mediocrity in your occupation?" Robin asked with a little grin, unbuttoning his neat black jacket.

"Being an accountant or a journalist is far safer," Father Stone pointed out. "Tea?"

"If it does not trouble you."

"Not at all. I was about to make myself and my young guest there some anyhow."

"Oh?"

Robin looked over, seeing the young man seated across the table from him; his eyes were red, but his sobbing had stopped as he watched and listened to the pair of them in utter amazement. He seemed astounded by this strange visitor, and more astounded by the familiarity between he and Father Stone.

He smiled at the younger teen.

"My apologies, sir. I had not noticed you." Robin shrugged his jacket off as well, revealing the black and grey waistcoat he had on underneath that, over his shirt and cravat, and the glittering silver cross on a chain around his neck; he extended his hand to shake with Garfield Logan.

The other boy put out his hand; then sharply withdrew it with a little cry as a knife engraved with Hebrew prayer and a sharpened wooden stake fell from Robin's sleeve and clattered on the table.

"My god, sir!" He cried. "What manner of crazed assault is this?"

"None at all," Robin said quickly, retrieving his weapons and placing them aside. "I mean you no harm, Mr Logan. They are the tools of my occupation."

"Beast Boy" did not look any less alarmed.

"And just what might your "occupation" _be_?" He demanded, eyeing the sharp weapons warily. "A highway man?"

Robin gave a little laugh.

"Heaven knows such an "occupation" would make me rich, sir…"

"Richard Grayson is a slayer, Beast Boy," Father Stone answered, returning to the table with three cups of steaming tea.

Now Garfield laughed, although his was rather more forced than Robin's.

"A… _slayer_?" He spluttered. "What is this? Some invented fancy, I would guess. There is no such thing!"

"On the contrary, Mr Logan," Robin replied smoothly, "while my occupation is a rare one, and yes, admittedly even partly self-invented, what I do is all too real. All manner of unholy creatures which stalk the living realm are dispatched by me or others like me."

"_Anyone_ could do that, sir," Garfield snorted. "One well-aimed shot from a gun—"

"It takes skill and knowledge to slay such creatures, Beast Boy," Father Stone interrupted gently. "Bullets will not destroy vampires and werewolves… Robin has such knowledge, as well as the weapons – as you have seen yourself – and as I recall, he has also trained in a fighting style originated from the Orient…"

"Martial arts," Robin filled in. "Forgive me if I appear arrogant, but there are few who can do what I do. We are a rare breed…"

"A rare breed you may be, sir," Garfield sniffed, "but Gotham needs more than a Christian with sharpened branches as weapons to be its salvation. We are _under attack_. And God help me, when I find the foul beast who last night murdered my fiancée—"

"Your fiancée?" Robin interrupted, alarmed. "There was another murder last night?"

Father Stone nodded gravely, while Garfield became saddened again.

"Yes," he said softly. "We were to be married next spring, but now… n-now she has b-been taken from me…"

Robin was immediately alert.

"Cyborg, do you have this morning's edition of the newspaper?" He asked, turning to the priest.

Father Stone nodded.

"I do. And would you _please_ stop referring to me as _Cyborg_…"

He got up get the paper as Robin turned back to Garfield Logan.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly. "But this killer… I do not believe it to be human. That is why I have come. I wish to stop these murders. If you have any information that would be of some help to me, I would be most grateful."

Garfield wiped his wet eyes and nodded, sniffling.

"Here you are." Father Stone was back, presenting Robin with the newspaper, that morning's edition of _The Gotham Gazette_.

"Thankyou." Robin took it and concentrated on the front page for a while.

_GRUESOME "RAVEN MURDERER" STILL AT LARGE_

Robin looked up after a few moments, focusing on Garfield Logan.

"Your fiancée… Her name was Tara? Tara Markov?"

Garfield nodded tersely.

"Yes, but I… everyone called her… _Terra_."

"Latin for "land"?" Robin asked.

"Yes. Because she… she was so good in the garden. The way she… It was as though she could _move_ the earth purely by her will."

Robin nodded distantly, going back to the article. It was not really very useful, and left many of his questions unanswered. Finally he put it aside and looked up at them both, clasping his hands on the surface of the table.

"You know why I am here," he said pointedly. "You know what I do, and you should both know that I am not leaving Gotham until I have caught this killer. I do not believe the local authorities can deal with something quite like this…"

"You know what we are dealing with?" Father Stone asked in a hushed voice.

"I am almost certain," Robin replied. "And I pray that Mr Logan will be able to confirm my suspicions momentarily. However, _Victor_… Forgive me for making such assumptions, but I would presume you have your own theories? I am curious as to whether they match my own."

The priest gave a guilty little nod.

"I admit to giving it some thought. I have dealt with some of the bodies, and…"

"And…?" Robin pressed. "Perhaps _you_ can confirm my theory instead?"

"How do you mean?"

"You know precisely what I mean. Were there any distinctive marks on the bodies?"

Father Stone cleared his throat.

"Yes. On the neck. Bitemarks." He paused. "That is what you were expecting?"

Robin nodded grimly.

"Yes, I feared as much. It is a vampire; one, if we are fortunate. Plural if we are less so."

"_Vampire_?" Garfield repeated weakly. "What… what do we do?"

"There is no "we", sir," Robin replied icily. "_I_ will slay it, by nailing _this_-" —He held up the stake— "through its hideous heart."

He lowered the stake, gazing intently at Garfield Logan.

"However, first I must be sure that the murder of your fiancée is connected with these other murders – these "Raven Murders", the title of which we will come to shortly. I apologize immensely for asking this of you, but if it would be at all possible, might I be permitted to see her body?"

Garfield immediately became guarded.

"Why would you wish for such a macabre thing, sir?" He demanded, disgusted.

"I have to check for bitemarks," Robin replied coldly.

"I would rather you didn't look upon her poor body," Garfield snapped.

"Mr Logan, if you wish for me to find and stop her killer, you must cooperate with me."

"It was the same murderer," Garfield insisted. "I can confirm it without you having to look at her body."

"And how so?" Robin asked, his voice taking on a nasty edge now in his impatience. "You claim expertise on this topic, when only moments ago you as good as admitted your ignorance?"

"Though you chide me with your arrogance, sir, I know that it was the same killer, and I can also answer your question concerning the title this string of murders has acquired," Garfield replied icily, looking at the slayer with dislike.

Robin nodded graciously, taking a sip of his tea.

"Then I will remain silent. Please enlighten me."

"Very well." Garfield took a mouthful of his own tea and then lowered his cup, clearing his throat. "These gruesome murders have acquired their title – the "Raven Murders", as you cited yourself – because it appears to be tradition that a ghastly spectral raven is always seen lurking at the murder scene. It has been witnessed by many, but since its appearance is always so fleeting, no soul has ever been able to take a truly close look at it. That, and the fact that it is so… _terrifying_… that no-one dares go near it…"

Robin looked at Father Stone.

"This is coherent to you, Cyborg?"

Father Stone nodded.

"The lad speaks the truth."

"And you said you can prove that your fiancée – Terra, as you called her – was murdered by this same "Raven Murderer"," Robin said slowly, looking back at Garfield. "Do you mean to say that _you_ have seen this ghastly apparition, Mr Logan?"

Garfield nodded tentatively, now looking rather scared.

"Last night, sir, as in my study I pondered over some quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, I heard a great commotion in the street. Terra and I obviously did not share living quarters as we… we were not _married_…"

He paused, his voice catching, and Robin and the priest waited patiently for him to calm himself.

"We… w-we…" Garfield wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat again. "…We did not live far from each other, however; in the same street, as it were. And l-last night, as I read, I heard the most terrible shouts and screams in the street. I recall rushing outside and stopping some frightened fellow to ask just what was going on. He replied that there had been an attack at one of the houses further down the street; I went with him to meet the crowd, gathering around a house I knew too well. I pushed through the crowd, sirs, and there she was on the grass at the front of her own house, her lovely body ravaged…"

Garfield took another deep gasping breath.

"And I knew in my heart, even before I touched her, that she was dead. I went to her and cradled her in my arms, and I am not ashamed to admit that I shed some tears, gentlemen." The young man's voice dropped to a whisper. "…But then I looked up, and there it was; the giant bird of the tabloid legend. Truly an unholy creature it was, perched on the roof, with hulking shape and ragged wings. I was terrified, and looked around to know if any of my companions could see it. Alas, nobody else was looking up at the roof; and when I myself looked back, the creature was surely gone."

Garfield Logan clenched his fists on the kitchen table.

"Last night, this thing satisfied its hunger of my fiancée. She was only the latest in a chain of gruesome murders." He looked up at Robin with piercing green eyes. "If you are all that you claim to be, Mr Grayson, I suggest you stop this thing before it takes another victim. I beg you, sir…" His gaze became pleading. "…Let Terra be the last. Let this monstrous raven creature have had its last meal."

Robin offered the younger teenager a small smile.

"Rest assured that I will destroy this monster, and that I will do so as quickly as is possible."

Garfield gave a little nod and rose from the table.

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have some things to which I must attend. _The Gotham Gazette_ wishes to interview me further on my sighting of the creature at the scene of my beloved's death. I will impose on you no longer, Father Stone, although I thankyou for your kindness and understanding."

"You know you are always welcome in the house of God, Beast Boy," Father Stone replied softly, going to the door with the young man. "And you are always welcome in _my_ house too."

Beast Boy paused at the door and turned back, looking at Robin.

"It has been a pleasure, Mr Grayson," he said to the slayer, "but if I may ask you a question?"

"Certainly, sir."

Garfield looked at Father Stone briefly, then back at Robin.

"Why is it that you call him "Cyborg"? I have never heard such a word before…"

Robin gave a little grin.

"That is because, Mr Logan, it is as invented as my occupation. I suppose that, in context, it has a meaning similar to "machine"."

Garfield looked at the mocha-skinned priest again.

"He appears completely human to me," he acknowledged, looking confusing.

"He is," Robin agreed mildly, "but when it comes to work, he is immovable. A complete machine, compelled and programmed, if you will, to deliver the word of God; and perhaps to slay and exorcise here and there on the side. Hence… my unique title for him."

"And I _thank_ you immensely, Richard," "Cyborg" replied dryly.

"And yourself, then?" Garfield pressed, still addressing Robin. "Father Stone has already stated plainly that your name is Richard Grayson. Why do call yourself "Robin"?"

Robin gave a little shrug.

"I have many names, Mr Logan," he replied. "My Christian name is Richard John Grayson; often I am called Dick. I have acquired a number of titles; hero, murderer, fool, Devil's incarnate… I prefer, however, to go by the name "Robin", because it is the only name I have ever applied to _myself_."

"It is an independence statement?"

"Of sorts. I just like the bird, too."

"Robins, perhaps." Garfield gave a little shiver. "_Ravens_ are a completely different matter…"

"Might I ask _you_ how you acquired _your_ rather unusual nickname?" Robin asked lightly.

"Beast Boy?" Garfield replied. "It was something that Terra named me, because I have a love of animals."

The young teen gave a guilty little grin.

"I cannot help it. Compared to humans, they are so innocent…"

Robin bit his lip thoughtfully.

"Not _all_ of them…"

"I need not ask what sorts of creatures you have dealt with," Garfield said stonily. "Gentlemen, I bid you good day…"

The teen turned and was gone; and Father Stone shut the door behind him.

"Cheerful fellow," Robin muttered.

"On the contrary, Richard, he usually _is_," the priest replied chidingly. "He has suffered great loss, however. Besides, you should not pass such judgment of others when you are not renowned for being especially cheerful yourself."

"Cyborg, I slaughter things for a living. Forgive me if I do not make merry of it."

The priest sighed.

"Either way, what do you intend to do first?" He asked, sitting opposite his long-time friend.

"Well, despite his protests, I am afraid that I _must_ see her body," Robin replied. "How many did you deal with yourself?"

"Two so far, out of the five who have been killed. I suppose that poor young Tara will make for three."

"Do you know where I can acquire a list of the murder victims' names?"

"The Wayne Manor News Archive would have a list of that nature. You would need to go to the manor house. It is not a private part of the house, so most anybody is allowed in."

Robin nodded.

"Then that will be my second destination."

"And your first?"

"As I have already expressed, I need to see Tara Markov's body before I proceed with my investigation. Where would I find it?"

"The Rue Morgue," Father Stone replied gravely. "It is not enough for you to simply believe the words of young Garfield Logan?"

"I cannot base an investigation on the words of a shocked groom-to-be," Robin snapped. "I need facts; he is probably right, but I _must_ be sure."

Father Stone nodded in understanding.

"And where do you intend to work from?"

"I shall find some inn. This is a large city; I am certain I shall find accommodation somewhere."

"There is no need. I have two empty rooms upstairs. You may use one of them."

"I could not impose on you like that."

"You will not be "imposing". I insist."

"But I—"

"Robin, you are a friend," Father Stone interrupted kindly, "and you are here to do this city a great service; one which I know you will perform to the best of your ability. Please, it is the least I can do to offer you a room."

Robin smiled.

"Alright, if I have your word that it does not trouble you."

"That you will have."

"You were always too good to me, Victor."

"As I said to young Mr Logan, you are always welcome in the house of God, and as I am servant of Him, then you are welcome in mine too."

"Well, I hope God does not adhere too much to his Old Testament ways when I break one of his Ten Commandments," Robin muttered, standing and retrieving his bag, weapons, jacket and coat to take them upstairs.

"And what commandment would that be?" Father Stone asked gravely, standing too and picking up the empty cups.

"_Thou shalt not kill_," Robin cited ominously, leaving the room.

He didn't hear the priest's answer as he started up the narrow wooden staircase, his boots echoing on the steps.

He checked out both rooms and eventually chose the more spacious one, so that he would have more room to practice with his weapons.

There was also a large window in this one, overlooking the dreary, murky city of Gotham.

The slayer dropped his belongings on the bed and went to the window, loosening his cravat.

And it was as he cast his gaze over the gray, depressing cityscape that – as though the smog was affecting him through the glass – a sudden familiar racking coughing fit gripped him.

He leaned against the wooden window frame, frantically tearing off his black silk cravat and loosening the collar of his shirt to try and get more air. He coughed until his lungs ached, gasping between dry aching heaves; feeling as though someone was choking the very life out of him.

He sank to his knees, doubling over, gripping at his chest; and then he retched and spat out a mouthful of horrible thick black sludge onto the wooden floorboards.

The coughing fit subsided and he knelt upright with a gasp, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.

He brought his hand away and looked at the familiar rotten substance on his fingers.

He groaned in frustration and clenched his fist; bowing his head and gritting his teeth.

"_Not again_…"

* * *

Ooh…

So, what do you think? It is different, if nothing else, non?

So, there's a big scary raven creature killing people off, Beast Boy is speaking proper English and Robin has a mysterious sickness (_Constantine_-esque, but it's not lung cancer, BTW). Don't say I never treat you.

In all other chapters, BTW, Cyborg will actually be referred to as "Cyborg", and the same applies to BB (who won't be back for a while now, but he DOES come back).

Raven and Starfire are both here next chapter, as well as a character from one of Poe's own works. Yesiree, the lines are beginning to merge. He seems like an OC, but he isn't really. He doesn't dominate the story, BTW, but he has an important role.

All Terra-haters… She's dead. Don't worry about it. O.o

Oh yeah, I meant to mention about the journal entry… You see the date (Friday 31st October, 1845)? That is the actual date of Halloween in 1845. I have a thingie on my laptop which will tell you the day of any date you type in (with reason, obviously…). Soooo… it's even accurate!

So, will you be back for Robin's excursion to the Rue Morgue, or will you return to this fic… _nevermore_?

Sorry, couldn't resist! Happy Halloween!

- RobinRocks xXx


	3. The Journal of Richard Grayson: II

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Saturday 1st November, 1845_

_All in all, it must be said that while I find myself amidst a series of killings most gruesome in their nature, my investigation into this mystery has gotten off to a rather gratifying start._

_After a pleasant surprise in finding that the priest dealing in part with these murders is none other than my old friend Brother Victor Stone from Jump City – or rather, Father Victor Stone, as he is addressed now – and therefore acquiring a room quite free of charge (he asks only for my utmost skill and concentration to be applied during my stalking of this monstrous "Raven Murderer" in repayment), I took a cab and ventured on to the Rue Morgue._

_There, I was able to procure my own testimony of the nature of these killings, and on top of this I met with the illustrious Doctor Usher, who has some incredible theories of his own; and thus I am now convinced of what lurks within this city._

_This killer is, as both Cyborg and myself suspected, of a vampiric nature._

_And fortunately for the people of Gotham – but less fortunately for the Raven Murderer – I have a number of ways of dealing with such an unholy phantom._

_I will detail the state of the bodies later in my separate casefile; but for now, I must not pause in my scribings, for there is much more to tell._

_After my visit to the morgue, I proceeded with my investigation, taking it to the news archives of the illustrious Wayne Manor. While stunned by the house itself, I admit that my attention was not truly upon the architecture and interior design of the building._

_Perhaps, admittedly, I am something of a "cyborg" myself when it comes to this work._

_As Cyborg himself had suggested, I did indeed find what I needed._

_It was as I copied down the notes that I met the second of the four new faces I have gazed upon this day; the first being that of Garfield Logan, and the second being that of Doctor Usher._

_This face was female; the step-daughter to Mr Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Manor. She seemed interested in my work, and so I explained it to her. To my immense surprise, it only served to pique her interest instead of deter it; a rarity in my experience. When we parted, she made it even vaguely apparent that she perhaps wished to meet me again._

_Perhaps we shall._

_But oh, her **name**—_

_How unfortunate. How unfortunate indeed._

_But yet, my dalliances of the day do not end here; for upon the long journey back to the parish house, I was joined in my cab by quite the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting._

_Her name, she told me, was Lenore; but she, like myself, prefers to go by a name she was not christened with._

_While I am unsure of the reasons behind this name, I have to admit heartedly that it does indeed suit her, taking note of her radiant beauty…_

_Dare I write it?_

_**Starfire**._

_I cannot help but smile as my pen creates the smooth line of black ink; the one that makes her name a reality._

_Alas, my day thus far has not been all merriment; for atop the revelation that a horrific and calculating creature lurks within Gotham City, I am once again faced with a cruel revelation of my **own**._

_The coughing fits are upon me again, it would seem; and I recognize that rotting black substance all too easily._

_My curse once again rears its hideous head._

_And I simply do not know how long I have left on this earth._


	4. The Murders in the Rue Morgue

Well, this seems to be going down pretty well! All the reviews have been of a very positive nature, and I am glad you see this as something of a refreshing read. I myself have never come across a _Teen Titans_ AU set in the past (they are generally modern day high school ones… there are way too many of those) so who knows? Perhaps this will inspire some other people to try it too. Again, though, I would call this specifically _Elseworlds_ rather than AU (same dif, I guess); that is the _Batman_ term for it and it perhaps fits a little better, since this story is heavily based on a _Batman Elseworlds_ series.

Well, I am glad you all like this very different take on _Teen Titans_, and to thank you all in person;

**Ravenluvver **(Yeah, I figured people like you would be glad about poor Terra's death… glad you're enjoying the fic!); **Me **(yeah, sorry, you missed the First reviewer spot by just a few seconds, probably… thankyou anyway!); **Guardian of Azarath **(again, thanks so much! I am totally glad you're enjoying it!); **Narroch **(of course, you are TOTALLY right about the _Sherlock Holmes _influences on the dialogue of the characters, not to mention the dress code. I guess I should have mentioned it. Glad you though the character transition to this time and place came out okay…); **A. P. Pym** (if you love Poe, I think you will enjoy this… Thankyou for the very kind compliment, BTW!); **Luneko **(and if _you_ love Poe that much, you should definitely try to get your hands on the Batman five-part _Nevermore_ series. You could probably find it on eBay or something – it is excellent. You have a Poe action figure? O.o… BTW, who is this strange "orange and furry culprit" to whom you refer?); **Poison's Ivy **(so basically… you now love me (platonically) again because I killed off Terra? Um, yay? Why is Gotham called Gotham? Interesting question – from 1939 to 1941 _Detective Comics_ writer Gardner Fox called the city New York, but when Batman was revamped into his own comic book in spring 1941 (a year after Robin's first appearance), by-then writer Bill Finger decided to rename it so that people wouldn't be able to identify with it – he apparently considered Civic City, Capital City and Coast City before eventually choosing the darker name of Gotham to match the hero's macabre appearance. So there you are. I am the font of all useless knowledge… You really should buy _Batman: The Complete History_…); **Quinn and His Quill **(as before, you are spot-on in some places and terribly wrong in others… nice try, though…); **RavensLair **(well, Raven makes her first appearance right here!I am glad you are "riveted", so to speak…); and** Peace215 **(yeah, you gotta love Poe – the man was a freaking genius… You will catch a LOT more quotes from _The Raven_ all over the place, so keep your eyes open! And catch up with _RTT_ whenever you can! You don't have the review…).

Oh yeah, just a note about the journal entries before we begin – the first one was "written" the night before Robin comes to Gotham. The rest are written in the evening following the day's events, so yeah… that last journal entry may have left you confused, since you haven't read about that stuff happening yet. The contents of the journal entry are below. That is how they work – a sort of "Coming Up Right Now" thingie. They are definitely teasers rather than spoilers – I have written them especially so as to make you (hopefully) interested, but they don't give away very much. Robin is now a _really_ vague journalist…

Oh yeah, and no-one actually gets murdered in the morgue – it's just I can't really argue with the story's title…

_Nevarmore – II_

The Murders in the Rue Morgue

"I have need to see the body of young Tara Markov," Robin stated firmly, leaning over the tall wooden desk of the clerk, who was writing in a black book, in what he supposed was the "reception" of the Rue Morgue.

The clerk looked up, surprised to see him; clearly he hadn't noticed the ebony-clad slayer looming over him until now.

"Ah, sir…" The clerk cleared his throat. "I apologize for my ignorance of your presence…"

He flipped back a page and read down it.

"Yes, her poor body was just brought in a few hours ago." He looked up, his expression suddenly quizzical. "You are a family member?"

Robin shook his head.

"An acquaintance then, sir?"

"I am afraid that I am neither," Robin admitted, straightening his cravat. "Alas, I knew not of the poor girl until her fiancé, Garfield Logan, informed Father Stone and myself of her murder this morning."

"Then why have you any need to see the body?"

"Because I intend to catch her killer."

The clerk looked at him blankly.

"Forgive me, sir, but you do not look like a member of the authority to me."

"That is because I am _not_. I deal with things of a slightly more supernatural nature," Robin replied icily.

The clerk paled a little.

"You do not think that this killer, this Raven Murderer… is _inhuman_, do you, my good man?"

"I have my suspicions."

The clerk stood.

"Then perhaps you should meet with the mortician before you gaze upon the girl's body…"

"And why should that be, pray tell?" Robin snapped.

"Because, sir, I believe his views are somewhat similar to your own." The clerk beckoned as he crossed the floor of the reception area. "Come, the good doctor's office is this way…"

The slayer obediently followed, wondering where this strange twist of events could possibly leave him.

The clerk knocked on the door of the office and went inside for a moment or two; Robin could hear the conversation beyond the heavy wooden door, but could not make out the words.

After a moment the clerk reappeared.

"You may enter," he said quietly to Robin. "Dr Usher is most anxious to meet you and compare theories."

"Thankyou, sir," Robin muttered as the clerk left to return to his tedious duties.

Cautiously, he pushed down the handle on the door and opened it, entering the room in silence. He closed the door quietly behind him, looking up to see the mortician at his large wooden desk, busily writing as the clerk had been.

The man did not look up.

Eventually, after it appeared that perhaps the doctor had not noticed him, Robin subtly cleared his throat. The man looked up with a start, eying Robin for a moment or two; taking in his entire visage.

"Well, I admit that you most certainly know how to make an impression," he declared finally, standing and extending his hand in an invitation for the slayer to approach the desk. Robin complied, holding out his own hand to shake with the mortician.

"I am Doctor Roderick Usher, PhD," he introduced himself, shaking with the Robin; gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. "Pray take a seat so that we may discuss our respective rather unsettling theories on this gruesome matter."

Robin sank into the chair, slipping off his coat; and as he did so, once again a stake slipped out from inside his shirt sleeve and fell into his lap. He cleared his throat nervously and grabbed the thing, meaning to stuff it back up inside his sleeve.

But Dr Usher held out his hand.

"Please, if I may see it…?"

Robin hesitated, then handed the sharp wooden point over. Dr Usher gripped it tightly, turning it over in his hand and examining it with intense interest.

It gave Robin time to study his new acquaintance; Dr Usher was a man somewhere in his late forties, with pale skin and gray-smattered black hair combed immaculately back. He was clean-shaven, but had neat, fashionable sideburns, and his work suit – black and white, like Robin's own; his too professing something about his occupation – was sharp and well-tailored.

"Sir…" Robin cleared his throat a third time – tasting a familiar bitterness that he willed himself not to think about – and tried again. "…You have not asked what _my_ name might be…"

Dr Usher looked up.

"That displeases you?"

"No, not… not exactly, sir, but I am of the opinion that if you request a fellow to come into your office, you should therefore show some kind of interest in him."

Usher smiled vaguely.

"On the contrary, young man, I am very _much_ interested in you," he replied, placing the stake down onto the desk. "I neglected to ask your name because I do, as a matter of fact, already know who you are."

His smiled deepened when Robin looked surprised.

"Oh, come now, young Grayson. Your legend precedes you."

"I have no _legend_, sir," Robin replied stiffly.

"I beg to differ." Usher clasped his hands together, weaving his fingers. "What I _do_ ask is whether or not you know the difference between a fool and a wise man."

Robin blinked.

"I beg your pardon, doctor?"

"You heard my words perfectly; and so I ask again. Do you know the difference? A simple yes or no will suffice."

"Yes, then."

Doctor Usher gave a sad little shake of his head.

"Then may I ask why you, a slayer, are wandering from city to city in an outfit that clearly gives away your unusual occupation, and no less with holy weapons hidden within each of your sleeves and a crucifix at your throat? Do you wish yourself _dead_, sir?"

"Clearly I have not made _that_ much of an impression on you, doctor," Robin replied icily. "Do you honestly think I would be in this profession – and be such a "legend", as you so kindly flattered me – if I could not defend myself?"

"That is not what I said. Clearly you are able to function in your job properly or you would be long dead; is that not correct, sir?"

Robin nodded stiffly.

"But you are a destroyer of these things? These vile, unholy apparitions?" Doctor Usher pressed.

"I recall you saying you knew that already."

"I do. And now, thanks to that outfit of yours – a clear advertisement of your occupation – the Raven Murderer probably knows too. Not a good move on your part, my boy, in my humble opinion. Your enemy may already know of your presence, visage, residence, when you know _nothing_ of him. Already, for vanity's sake, you have put yourself at a disadvantage. And so, Mr Grayson, are you the fool or the wise man?"

"Perhaps a combination of the two," Robin placated stonily. "It matters little, doctor; first impressions cannot be taken back. And thus far, I do not think I am completely in the dark about this situation. I believe that the killer is of a vampiric nature. This is your belief also?"

Doctor Usher gave a grave nod.

"Yes, it could be said that we two are of similar par in this matter. I feared as much."

"I admit it is a rarity to meet something with your level of understanding of the supernatural," Robin replied, glad to have found another ally – albeit a patronizing one. "In this modern era, few believe in the things that have been plaguing man's livelihood for centuries."

Usher smiled.

"What may I say? Dealing with death is my job. It is a fool of a mortician indeed who is ignorant of the macabre creatures which roam the night. How else may so many of these bizarre and gruesome murders be explained, but for vampires, werewolves…?"

"And what of Tara Markov, may I inquire, sir?"

"Two distinctive bites in the throat, at the position of the jugular; the girl was drained of her blood."

"Vampire."

Usher nodded.

"I am afraid so." He rose from his seat. "But I am doubtless you would rather look upon her yourself?"

Robin gave a little nod of his own and stood too, gathering his coat and stake under one arm.

"Then let us go through to the morgue. Please, if you would kindly follow me…"

Robin followed Doctor Usher from the office and down a corridor towards the morgue itself.

Usher paused at the door.

"I am sure you are used to this feeling, but I do not think you will like what you find in here…"

Robin smiled thinly, stepping past him.

"I never _do_, doctor…"

**TT**

Poring over the newspapers spread on the wooden table before him, Robin scratched his hair with the end of his ink pen thoughtfully.

It was, of course, too late for him to be able to see the bodies of the other victims, but the newspapers he had here had filled him in to a certain extent. And piecing it all together, he could very safely say that it was indeed a vampiric creature he was after. The common link between each of the murders was the sighting of some foul apparition – the "Raven Murderer", if this thing was _even_ the killer. It was possible that this "raven" creature was not actually the killer, but rather a sign left at the murder scene by the killer.

Something of a secret identity.

Garfield Logan had confirmed that he had seen the creature at the crime scene of Tara Markov's murder; and Robin himself could confirm that she had been killed by a vampiric being. According to the past week's editions of _The Gotham Gazette_, the "raven creature" had also been spotted at each of the five other murder scenes. And, although he had been unable to see the bodies, Robin had been given access to Dr Usher's records and had been able to see the causes of death for each and every one of the victims.

_Body drained of blood, perh. via two holes made in jugular, as though with two single pointed instruments._

The whole thing screamed "VAMPIRE" to him.

As with all the victims of the creatures he dispatched he saw, he had felt immense sorrow as he had looked upon Tara Markov's (_Terra's_)body. Pale of skin, with long golden hair, death had not stolen her beauty.

But dead she was.

And Robin had made a silent vow that she would be the last.

Now, as he copied the victim's names onto a scrap piece of paper wedged in the back of his journal, his brow was furrowed in deep thought. There did not seem to be any particular pattern to the murders – they just appeared to be random, brutal killings.

Vampires were not renowned for their masterful planning of whom they picked off. It seemed to the slayer as though this was simply another case of a hungry, freshly-blooded vampire fulfilling its needs. His theory was that it was a "new blood" – a coined term, on his part, for a vampire not long… _vampiric _– as they were new to the game and reckless, not realizing that killing a new victim every night was a very good way to get noticed and targeted by a slayer or priest. Older vampires did not need to feed every night, for despite their hunger, they did not die; but fresh vampires…

Robin preferred them to "old blood", because they were naïve in the ways of the slayers, overconfident of their new power and therefore easy to destroy; but God Almighty, if they weren't a nuisance… Their attack patterns were so random (because they were unplanned) that sometimes it took Robin up to a week to nail the thing, and that often meant an amassing body count.

Since six people had already been killed at the hands of the gruesome creature, Robin knew he could not afford to take a week to solve this one. _Slaying_ the vampire wasn't the difficult part; it was _catching_ it first that was the problem…

He coughed a little, feeling his lungs heave, but he wasn't racked with a fit.

Good. He couldn't afford his "sickness" to slow him down, not now…

Additionally, this – the news archive wing of Wayne Manor's public library – was not a very appropriate place to be hacking up a lung; it was very quiet, with only two other people in here aside from Robin himself.

Shaking his head to clear it, Robin pulled one of the newspapers closer to him—

"You like to read the newspaper, sir?"

Robin started and glanced over his shoulder; there was a girl standing behind him, giving him a quizzical look.

She was an exquisite thing; petite, in a gown of black velvet and lace. Her beauty, however, was not conventional; she was not radiant with it. She was quite different to any girl he had ever seen before – her skin was almost unnaturally pale, and she had large dark violet eyes and short dark hair. In a lot of ways, she almost looked slightly vampiric.

He didn't think she _was_ one – for one thing, it was daylight – but was slightly wary of her even so as she came up to the table.

He offered her a thin smile and looked down again; he was uncomfortable with her interest in him, as most people took one look at him (at his clothes, the cross and the usual scowl on his face) and kept away from him. Thinking about it, he realized that Dr Usher probably had a point – his outfit of choice probably _did_ reveal a little too much about him.

Even now, with his coat and jacket off, leaving him with a fairly normal outfit of a shirt, waistcoat and a black silk cravat, the large silver cross at his neck immediately gave the impression that he was a regular in dealing with unholy creatures, hence the need for protection.

Of course, underneath it all, he was not unprepared. He carried a stake in one sleeve for use against vampires, a silver knife in the other for werewolves, there was another knife in his belt along with a phial of holy water, a long coil of sharp thin thread-like wire and a handgun packed with silver bullets. There was a stake concealed in a sheath in each of his boots along with spare bullets in one, matches in the other.

It stood that either way, he was not likely to befriend her. If she _was_ a vampire, then he was far from unprepared for dealing with her, and if she _wasn't_, it was likely that she would run a mile when a stake inevitably fell out of his sleeve at any given moment. It happened nearly every time he met someone new…

"I am working," he replied nonchalantly. "It is hardly for pleasure, miss."

"I know you are working. That is not what I asked, sir. I asked if you _enjoyed_ reading the newspaper."

Robin looked up at her in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

The girl sat down in a chair opposite to him; and he immediately noticed the knowing, intelligent look on her face.

"I know what you are," she said softly, leaning closer to him. "You are a slayer. You are here to stop the creature that prowls our city by night, killing innocents."

Robin couldn't help but blink at her.

"H… h-how were you able to tell?"

She smiled.

"It would be fun to jest with you and lead you to believe that I have telepathic abilities, sir, but the truth must be told that clothes say a lot about a man."

"Oh." Robin grimaced; Dr Usher really hadn't been joking about that… "But even so, a slayer? Perhaps I am an actor still in costume, or an undertaker…"

"Forgive me, sir, but I have never seen any actor or undertaker with a wooden stake sticking out of his sleeve."

Robin looked; and then snorted and shoved the stake back up his sleeve.

"Does that not bother you?" He asked, looking back up at her and wondering why she hadn't backed off yet.

"_Someone_ must do what you do."

Robin smiled sourly.

"How philosophical…"

"I thank you, sir." Her smile was a little sour in return, and yet Robin couldn't help but like her. There was something about her – and he couldn't say what – that made him trust her, despite his previous speculations that she might be a vampire.

"Your work fascinates me," she went on, "but I must ask; what possessed you to choose this path? This thankless job?"

"As you said, someone must do it. It is good to help people; I do not like to see innocent people suffer. If I _can_ help, then is it not my _responsibility_ to do so?"

She gave a thoughtful little nod.

"You have your own reasons too, I presume?"

"Yes, but I would rather not share them with you, if you would not find it offensive."

"Not at all. However, if you please, sir, will you at least tell me your name?"

"It is Robin."

"Just Robin?"

"Just Robin. At least, that is what I prefer to go by these days. As I am sure you have guessed, that is not my true name…"

"I shall call you Robin, if that is what you would prefer…"

"And you, miss?"

"Ah…" She gave him an abashed little smile. "My name is, at this moment, rather unfortunate…"

"Why should that be?"

She gave a tiny cough and looked away for a moment or two.

"My name is _Raven_," she muttered finally.

Robin felt his blood run cold at the sound of that name.

"_Raven_? But that is…"

"…Associated with these murders. I know." Raven sighed. "It is a most unfortunate coincidence indeed…"

"I am… _sorry_…"

Raven patted his hand.

"Do not be. It is nobody's fault. This story will soon go out of vogue to make way for something more macabre, and people will hiss my name in terror nevermore. It is nothing but a coincidence, because of the creature spotted at the murder scenes…"

"Might I ask why you are in here? Meeting me was but another coincidence, for surely you could not have known I was here, having never met me before. So I assume you are here yourself for a purpose?"

"Something like that. Actually, I live here."

"You live in the news archive room?" Robin repeated quizzically.

"No." Raven shot him a bored look. "I live _in_ Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne is my step-father."

"You don't say…"

Of course, Robin had heard of Bruce Wayne. _Everyone_ had heard of Bruce Wayne. He was the richest man for miles around, with the legend of his materialism spreading as far as Metropolis. The journalist Clark Kent had mused one night, as he and Robin had sat together in a dark corner booth of one of Metropolis' most popular clubs, that he had once been a friend of Wayne's, but as is often the case, wealth had come between them. Since fully inheriting the fortune of his deceased parents, Bruce Wayne had become practically untouchable. He was known to be reclusive and private; occasionally donating large sums of money to different causes, but generally he kept himself to himself.

But while Robin could recall all of _that_, he did not remember Clark ever mentioning anything about Bruce Wayne having a daughter, or even a _wife_, for that matter…

"You disbelieve me," Raven said, studying Robin's expression.

Robin blinked.

"Ah, no, it is not that I disbelieve you, Miss Wayne—"

"It is Roth, actually. Bruce Wayne is only my step-father. I love him dearly, and he I, but I have kept my mother's name. But incidentally, I would prefer my Christian name, if it is all the same to you." She offered him a tiny smile. "Even at this most unfortunate time, when my name is whispered on the streets as though a curse…"

"Well…" Robin cleared his throat again. "As I was saying, Miss Raven, I do not disbelieve your story, but rather I was unaware that Mr Wayne was even married. His legend is incomplete, it would appear."

"And how is it that you would even know of such a "legend", sir?"

"I am something of an acquaintance of his one-time friend, Mr Clark Kent of the city of Metropolis."

Raven nodded.

"Mr Kent. My step-father sometimes speaks of him. As for his marriage… He married my mother, Angela Roth, some many years ago. I was a very young child at the time, and remember little of it. My mother unfortunately passed away a few years ago, stolen from us by the affliction of tuberculosis. It has just been my step-father and myself in the manor ever since. Few people know of my existence as he does not publicize the fact that he lives alone with a teenaged girl. You can understand his reasons for this, even if I _am_ his step-daughter…"

Robin nodded vaguely.

"I am sorry to hear about your mother."

"I thank you, but it something that could not be helped." Raven gazed long and hard at the slayer. "It was not a problem that could be dealt with by a wooden stake through the heart."

Robin raised his eyebrows.

"You have done your research. I am impressed." His expression darkened again. "However, if this is the case, then have you not attempted to deal with this creature yourself? The death count is at six already…"

"Were I to try, that would make for seven," Raven replied coolly. "I have not the skill to destroy such a creature; my knowledge comes from books. Yours, I can see, sir, comes from practice."

She looked down at one of the newspapers.

"Besides," she went on, "I am as unknowledgeable as you thus far in the matter of knowing the creature's whereabouts. Even if I were a "slayer" such as yourself, the death count would probably still be at six. How may you stop a creature such as this when you do not know where to find it?"

Robin sighed heavily and looked down at his list of victim's names.

"_That is my problem exactly_," he murmured.

Raven stood up.

"I hope you will not think me rude, but I am afraid I must be leaving. My step-father returns home soon, and I promised to meet him. I must go and get ready. However…"

Her gaze lingered on him for a long while.

"…Well, I do not think I may be much help to you, but if you have any questions that you think I might be able to answer, please do not hesitate to come to the manor. I want these murders stopped as much as you, so please, cast aside any conceptions you may have of it being improper to call by to see a young lady. Stopping these killings is far more important."

Robin nodded and stood too.

"I thank you. It is possible that I may require your help, especially as you seem to have a knowledge of the nature of my occupation…"

He held out his hand to shake with her and the stake fell out onto the desk with a clatter of wood on wood.

He winced, but she only giggled slightly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Robin," she said, shaking his hand. "I hope that this will not be the last I see of you."

Robin smiled; touched, seeing as most people he met couldn't wait to get away from him, especially after a stake fell out of his sleeve…

Clark Kent, like Raven, had laughed; Cyborg had known Robin since before he had become a slayer, so only rolled his eyes every time it happened; and Dr Usher had been grimly interested.

Everyone else, "Beast Boy" included, backed off sharpish.

So Robin smiled when she didn't snatch her hand back, and noted that she did genuinely seem to like him.

She took her hand back, gave him a tiny little wave, and left, the black velvet skirt of her dress swaying with her movement.

The slayer watched her go, his pen in his mouth; and a sad, strange loneliness suddenly swept over him.

For her, or for himself; he was unable to tell.

There had always been an empty hole deep inside him, and now it became a little more apparent.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

**TT**

Reading through the notes he had made, Robin was oblivious to everything else as the cab made its way through the city; with the curtains at the window drawn, he didn't care, for the moment, about what was going on outside those four walls.

Vampires, extremely pervious to daylight (hardly _sun_light, in this case – this was quite the grayest city he had ever been to), did not dare venture outside before sunset, so he knew he was not missing anything on that front.

He felt that his investigation had gotten off to a good start and planned now to go back to Father Stone's house, as the priest had insisted he be back for dinner, and then after he had eaten, he would go up to his room, write in his journal, look some more at his source material, and then go out on patrol.

Cyborg had a late mass, so Robin knew he wouldn't be disturbing him.

So right now, oblivious as he was, he was almost thrown forwards against the opposite seat when the cab suddenly lurched to a halt, sending his notes everywhere.

Tutting irritably, he straightened up and retrieved them all, snatching them up from where they had fallen. Leaning back, he scowled as he started to leaf through them and put them back in order.

The door to the cab opened but he didn't look up, annoyed by the mess his notes had gotten into.

"There you are, miss. I hope you do not mind sharing…"

Robin felt the cab tip a little as the driver helped someone else into the carriage, then right itself as the man stepped back down. The door shut and after a few moments the carriage began to move again.

The new arrival did not speak, and neither did Robin; he did not even look up, but out of the corner of his eye he saw them shift right along the opposite seat towards the window and lift the curtain to peek out.

The rustles of skirts, added to the addressing of this person as "miss" by the driver, cemented Robin's assumption that his new companion was female, even though he hadn't looked at her.

The curtain slipped back into place again and Robin got the strange feeling that she was now looking at _him_.

But still she said nothing.

Flipping through his now-organized notes, Robin clicked his tongue as he realized one sheet was missing. He looked up as he heard the rustle of paper; the female was holding it out.

"You are looking for this?" She asked.

Robin looked up at her as he reached for it; and then very quickly averted his eyes again.

Because she was _beautiful_.

"Thankyou," he managed to say, taking it and quickly stuffing it in with the rest of them.

She uttered a soft giggle and his heart jumped.

"It is custom for you to be so shy?" She asked.

He swallowed and forced himself to look up.

"Not… not usually, miss…"

He could have kicked himself; well, _that_ had sounded ridiculous…

She didn't laugh at him. When his head ventured up again, she was smiling at him.

"Well, please do not be. If we have quite a way to go in this small space, and only each other for company, should we not attempt to make conversation?"

He tried to answer but his voice stuck in his throat, so he nodded instead. Inside, he was mortified; what was _wrong_ with him? Why was it that he could stand poker-faced in front of hissing vampires, snarling werewolves and lurching, rotting walking corpses, and yet he was speechless in front of this girl?

She stood and moved across so that she was sitting on the same side of the cab as him; and as she stood, he was able to see her properly.

She was very tall (taller than him, he could see without standing himself) and slim, the curve of her hips enhanced by the dress of emerald green ruffled velvet she wore. However, where Raven's dress has been perhaps a little figure-hugging, this girls' skirt was fuller, with lace petticoats underneath it to give it shape. The bodice was tight and low, edged with lace, and over her shoulders was a lace shawl, not giving her much protection against the November weather but looking the part.

Her hair was long, shining fiery auburn, her skin was almost unnaturally tanned, and her eyes were orbs of glittering emerald.

Her smile was the most perfect thing he had ever seen.

"Well, I suppose we must do this properly," she said warmly, sitting next to him; those incredible eyes did not avert from him at all, as though she liked what she was seeing. "I am Starfire."

Robin blinked.

"Star… fire?"

She giggled at his expression.

"Yes, it is rather unusual, is it not? I admit, it is not my true name, but I prefer it to the name I was christened with. It is an affectionate name given to me by my father."

"And the reason for that being…?" Robin couldn't help being curious.

"Well, my father is a man of great intellect, and he once called me something in Latin. I asked him what it meant, and he said that roughly translated it came out as "Star Fire". In context, it is taken to mean that one's beauty outshines the fire of a thousand stars." She blushed a little. "I think perhaps he was flattering me too much, but I do rather like the name…"

Robin smiled despite himself.

"It could not be more fitting."

Starfire laughed.

"You are too kind, sir. And pray may I ask what _your_ name might be?"

"Ironically, I also go by a name that is not my Christian one. You can call me Robin."

"Robin? The name of the bird?"

"The very same."

"Robin…" She said it thoughtfully. "It is nice. I like it."

"Not as extraordinary as "Starfire", I am afraid…"

"No, I suppose not. However, my real name is not nearly as fantastic…"

"Ah…" Robin bit his lip; this conversation was getting a bit too familiar considering they had only just met. "Well, I would quite understand if you would rather keep that to yourself."

"Oh, I do not mind. My true name is _Lenore_."

"Lenore. That is not _that_ bad."

"Oh?" She was mockingly indignant. "And what might _your_ name be then, sir?"

Robin paused.

"Richard," he said finally.

She giggled.

"Oh, that is not awful either…"

They were both giggling now, for no real reason; the slayer, one for keeping himself to himself for the most part, was astounded at how much he was drawn to her. Usually, he thought carefully before he spoke, wary of what he said to people. But with her – Starfire; Lenore – he felt like he could say _anything_. He didn't feel the need to be cautious because her presence made him feel… "relaxed" wasn't quite the word, but he just didn't feel the need to guard himself quite so much.

And he had only just met her.

Even Raven Roth had not made him feel so open.

On the other hand, there was a chance that Starfire would back off the moment a stake slipped out of his sleeve. At least Raven had not been at all alarmed by that…

Starfire let out a sigh and looked around the interior of the cab distractedly.

"Something troubles you?" Robin asked.

She looked at him, her smile restoring itself.

"Oh, no… not at all. Might you have a watch about you?"

Robin declined his head.

"I am afraid not. Did you require the time?"

"Not as such. I just wondered if perhaps my father would be home…" She gave another little sigh. "It is my wish that he does not bring his work home with him tonight…"

"Why should that be?"

"His occupation is positively macabre. He is a mortician. I am aware that someone must do what he does, but I do not desire for him to discuss it at home, as he so often will." She shivered a little. "He has been somewhat obsessed by the Raven Murders that have taken place this week. As I have mentioned, he is a man of great intellect, but he has some rather fanciful ideas in his head also…"

Robin frowned, beginning to piece two and two together…

"What kind of ideas?"

"Well, he has something of an interest in the occult. He is a good, God-fearing man, Robin, do not misunderstand me; but his beliefs do not rest at simply God and Satan. He believes in the creatures of ancient folklore – unholy beasts such as vampires and werewolves… It is his belief that it is a vampiric, inhuman creature which is carrying out this string of gruesome killings…" She blinked at him, trailing off. "Why do you stare at me so?"

"Your… your father…" Robin swallowed and tried again. "Your father is Dr Roderick Usher…"

_She_ stared at _him_ now.

"Why, sir, how can you _know_ such things?"

"Because I met with him only this morning. He is the mortician of the Rue Morgue, am I right?"

She nodded, still speechless; then she shook her head and found her tongue again;

"Why were you at the morgue? Has the murderer taken someone dear from you?"

"No, nothing like that…" He took a deep breath. "Starfire… I do not mean to alarm you, but your father's "fancies" are in fact a grim reality. The creatures he speaks of to you _do_ prowl our mortal realm, and in meeting your father this morning, we have exchanged theories. They did, in fact, match – the killer is not human. Rather, as you cited yourself, of a vampiric nature."

"And why is such a macabre topic _your_ business? My father deals with it because he must – it is his job. But you, sir – what is _your_ excuse?"

He looked up at her, his masked blue eyes meeting her clear emerald ones.

"At risk of you turning from me, Starfire, I cannot deny what I am," Robin sighed finally. ""I am a slayer; and yes, it is something of an invented occupation. I am a destroyer of these unholy phantasms, and I do so with God's grace."

"My… father has spoken of you. Of your kind," Starfire replied softly. "He says that you are… _heroes_…"

Robin smiled thinly.

"That is one of the many names I have accumulated in the past…"

Starfire smiled back at him.

"I will not turn from you. I suppose that I, to some extent, believe in these things myself. It is just that my father does to tend to obsess over them. I am only glad that there are people like you out there, destroying these things so that my poor father does not have to deal with nearly so many bodies…"

"You know nothing of this Raven Murderer, Starfire? That is why I am here, ultimately."

"I fathomed as much." She shook her head. "I am afraid I know nothing but what the newspapers have reported. I have not seen the creature myself, nor do I know anybody who has. I am truly sorry."

"Do not be." Robin shook his head with a smile. "Be _glad_ that you have not seen it. It would seem to be an omen of death, as ravens often are…"

Starfire shivered.

"Horrid creatures…"

"Perhaps in this case…" Robin agreed.

She leaned closer to him, studying his face intently. He swallowed nervously at how close she was; and again, being this close to a _werewolf_ wouldn't have made him so uneasy.

_Werewolves_ didn't make him nervous; didn't make his mouth go dry or make his heart pound in his chest.

Her head tilted a little to the side. He could taste her sweet breath with her nearness. Those fantastic emerald orbs slid closed—

—And the cab slammed to a halt, throwing her right into his chest. His notes went flying everywhere again as he smacked against the wall of the carriage with the abruptness of both the cab's halt and the impact of her.

"Starfire, you are unharmed?" He asked, sitting up and pushing her upright.

"Yes, yes, I am quite alright…" She seemed flustered as she pulled away from his hands. "I am… I apologize, that was highly improper of me to…"

"It is… it is alright…"

"No, no, it is not…"

The cab door opened and they leapt right away from one another.

The driver eyes the mess of notes all over the cab's interior but didn't say a word, his eyes instead moving to Starfire.

"Miss Usher, your stop…?"

"Ah, yes, I thank you, truly…" Starfire stood and moved to the door; pausing there to look back at Robin.

A blush had crept up her beautiful face.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Usher," Robin said finally, beginning to pick up his notes again.

"Yes…" She found her voice again. "Yes, I too took great pleasure in meeting you, sir… I wish you every success with your investigation…"

The driver helped her down as she stole one last longing look at him, and then the door shut again.

Leaning back heavily, Robin threw his notes onto the seat beside him, thinking of the girl who had managed to paralyze him where no demon or monster had ever been able to do before her.

Who called herself Starfire; whose beauty outshone the fire of a thousand stars.

The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named _Lenore_.

* * *

Uh yeah… this story is RobinxStarfire, BTW… eh heh… guess I kinda forgot to mention that… I guess it has elements of RobinxRaven in a sort of slanted way, but primarily it's RobinxStarfire…

Please don't run away!

And her name – well, it's Lenore instead of Koriand'r in this. Lenore, of course, is the deceased woman, (probably representing Poe's wife Virginia) which the narrator speaks of in _The Raven_. If you watch _The Simpsons Halloween Special_ version of the poem, Marge is Lenore…

As for Usher… hope you liked my characterization of him. He does turn up again quite a lot, since he is Starfire's father in this (a notion taken from the _Batman_ series _Nevermore_, in which Usher has a daughter called Lenore)… As far as I know, the real Usher wasn't a mortician – he was a mad guy who accidentally buried his sister alive and what-not… It's pretty much just the name that is the same, to be honest…

Yeah, I know the history is all kind of mashed up now, but it _is_ an Elseworlds. I just hope no-one objects to Raven being Bruce Wayne's step-daughter (I put in the step" part as a reference to the fact that Poe himself got the "Allan" part of his name from his step-father, John Allan). Also, the idea of Arella dying of tuberculosis was a reference to the fate of Poe's wife Virginia, who died of the disease. If I'm not mistaken, I believe his mother also died of tuberculosis…

As above to Narroch, yes, I guess I should have mentioned the rather obvious _Sherlock Holmes_ influences on this fic (I have read well over half of those stories…). The dialogue style is more inspired by Conan Doyle's work than Poe's own, so I apologise if it sounds a bit too English. The characterization of Robin in this also owes a lot to Sherlock Holmes – while Robin has always reminded me of Sherlock Holmes in some ways (the _Teen Titans_ version probably taking the nod from Batman, who, being absent in the show, is (perhaps unintentionally) filled in for by Robin), the _Nevarmore_ version is decidedly more arrogant than his "normal" counterpart (that is, any written versions of him that are strictly the animated version). To be honest, Robin in this isn't really a very nice character – writing him, I have found him a little difficult to warm to. I'm not sure why he has turned out the way he has, but somehow he is something of a combination of Sherlock Holmes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Van Helsing (the Hugh Jackman movie one)…

Never mind. Hope everyone had a great Halloween last Tuesday!

- RobinRocks xXx


	5. The Journal of Richard Grayson: III

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Sunday 2nd November, 1845_

_To reminisce for merely a moment, and procrastinate writing the happenings of this day – 2nd November, which happens to fall upon the Lord's Day – until later, I must tell of the happenings of last night._

_While this morning I have discovered that things have taken a turn for the worse, and last night was met with a most unpleasant revelation…_

_Still, for the first time in a long time, there is joy in my heart._

_I suppose this small tale begins at supper last night, when I, still unsatisfied by the findings of the day, asked of Cyborg precisely where I might find the home of Dr Usher. It was, as I told my companion, my desire to interrogate him further about the bodies of the victims massacred by this Raven Murderer. _

_For, as I have already written in my casefile, I had begun to deduce a pattern, and I admit that I was curious as to whether or not Usher had observed it too._

_Cyborg told me in reply that Usher's residence was the "House of Usher", which all in all is not the most inspired name I have ever heard, but most certainly fitting._

_After supper I opted to combine the visit to Usher's home with my nightly slayer duties and headed out via cab._

_As I had already marked Usher up as in my mind, he is a man of great intellect – upon speaking with him, it was apparent that he too had noticed the pattern in the killings, and we were in agreement that it is both extremely worrying and puzzling all at once._

_And then, as if to somehow **prove** our theory… _

_It can be said that I have seen the beast with my own eyes._

_And truly… nothing like it have I ever seen before._

_The creature attacked, its presence signaled by the scream of Usher's daughter._

_Lenore. Starfire._

_Who admittedly perhaps played a part also in my desire to visit the Usher House…_

_We repelled the vile phantom, I wounding it upon my stake; but alas, I missed its heart, and the thing fled, leaving it alive to hunt another night._

_Still the Raven Murderer stalks._

_I was, to say, "rewarded" for my efforts and for my saving of her._

_She told me of the many things that a rose can stand for; and **showed** me as well._

_But even as my heart swells a little with sheer gladness, I am filled with a dread too._

_Last night also I was faced once again with an inescapable fact; as if the coughing and the rancid black substance dislodging itself from my throat or lungs or wherever it comes from were not enough to remind me of it._

_I know that I am dying._

_And I know that, as these fits grow worse, I cannot have very long left._

_And so, to work. If I am battling to live even now, I must proceed with this case and destroy this fearsome monster as soon as possible. As I have cited above, this situation only worsens. _

_Time runs out on all sides, I fear._

_I must work quickly; till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore of "Never-nevermore."_


	6. The House of Usher

Uh, first of all, it would seem to me that all most of my readers seem to be running away! One look at the "RobinxStarfire" part and you're fleeing for the hills! What is so wrong with that pairing? It's the _canon_ one, for heaven's sake!

I'm guessing _Trouble in Tokyo_ and _Stranded_ didn't go down too well with you guys, then…

Well, my only theory was that the title/summary was misleading, so I've even put "RobinxStarfire" on the summary now. Even so, despite disliking the pairing, you shouldn't run away…

I can't say anything right now, but this isn't a little la-di-da fluff/angst Robin-Raven-Starfire triangle…

But I'm not changing it, so quit whining.

**Big news! I drew a picture! **Mostly due to the request of **Me **(jeez, what _is_ your actual penname? Are you _ever_ going to tell me, or are you going to keep anonymously signing "Me" forevermore?), I drew a chibi pic of the _Nevarmore_ versions of the Titans. Yeah, they're only chibi (and not fantastic, admittedly), I'm afraid, but it gives you the general idea of their costumes, etc. Please note that Cyborg looks _really_ weird because he doesn't have his cybernetic parts – however, I couldn't get him looking quite like Stone (from _Deception_) either, so he kinda looks like a black version of Lex Luthor. Eh heh… Actually, I am pretty good at the other four Titans but I REALLY suck at Cyborg (with the cybernetic parts too). I can never get him right…

Give it a blast, anyway. It can be found on my joint **DeviantART** account, the link to which is on my long and scary profile.

Thankyou to: **Quinny-Boy a.k.a Quinn and His Quill **(glad you like the stake. As for the _Dracula_ references… I never _actually_ said that I was taking inspiration from _Dracula_. I said I was taking inspiration from _Buffy_, _Van Helsing_, _Constantine_ and _Hellsing_, all of which take **their** inspiration from… _Dracula_. The idea of the vampires not being able to go in sunlight comes from _Buffy_, and is also backed up by _Interview with the Vampire_. So nope; I guess the closest thing to being directly inspired by _Dracula_ in this is the journal entry thing, the style of which is similar to that of _Jonathan Harker's Journal _in _Dracula_); **Luneko **(I think I am a bigger dork than you, so don't worry… I haven't actually read _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ – but I _have_ read _The Fall of the House of Usher_. Check out the pic if you want to see Raven's dress, and keep enjoying the fic, Buffy!); **Rochelleteentitan **(glad you think it is different! I haven't ever read a Victorian _Teen Titans_ AU myself, so…); **Guardian of Azarath **(well, I'm glad that RobinxStarfire isn't deterring _you_! Whew! Gotta love _The Simpsons_' take on _The Raven_ – "Quoth the Raven… Eat my shorts!"); **Narroch **(I am sure that you have your suspicions about Star's role, and I do wonder how right you are… But yay, I am glad you like everyone in their roles and in this time era – the Victorian period is not something you automatically think of when you look at that cartoon. If anything, it reminds me of the 60s – it possibly has that vibe deliberately since the Titans' roots are in the 60s. But I digress…); **Ravenluvver **(here's another bit of irony for ya – _Nevermore_ is actually the first ever _Teen Titans_ episode I ever saw!It is cool, huh? It definitely hooked me, no doubt about it…); **Me **(the art is up especially at your request! Go check it out – I hope you like it!); **Poison's Ivy **(rawr, don't start on me over the RobinxStarfire content. You can't have it all, my dear… This is the only multi-chaptered RobinxStarfire piece I have ever done, so cut me some slack… I don't see what the problem is… Well, hopefully the vampires will be enough to make you keep reading – you know you love vampires… You _should_ be caught dead with _Batman: The Complete History_, BTW – it is really interesting…); **RavensLair **(who, um, ran away… please come back! RobinxStarfire isn't that bad!); and **Evilsadisticbutterfly **(who admitted to preferring RobinxRaven over RobinxStarfire but hopefully won't run away on me… I admit that the "gothic" style of this fic does seem to make you think of a RobinxRaven pairing, but even so, I don't think you'll be disappointed with the ending…).

So then, let us follow our little Boy-Slayer-Wonder to…

_Nevarmore – III_

The House of Usher

"Perchance, Cyborg, might you know where the residence of the good Dr Usher is?" Robin asked, looking up from his notes.

The priest glanced up at him, his fork halfway to his mouth; the two of them were eating supper together at the kitchen table.

It was swiftly growing dark outside.

"Why, that would be the rather appropriately-named House of Usher, on the Lower East Side of Gotham." Shooting the slayer a quizzical look, he added; "Why might you need to know?"

"I have need of discussion with him over a few matters," Robin muttered, picking up his own fork and beginning to eat; Cyborg was glowering at his untouched plate, implying for him to eat. "There are still a fair few details of this case that trouble me…"

"Such as…?"

"Such as if there was perhaps more than one victim killed on any single night. Such knowledge will help to decipher just what kind of vampire it is that I am dealing with. Thus far, I am of the opinion that it is freshly-blooded and hungry, as these attacks do seem to be rather random, and yet…"

"And yet what?"

Robin chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

"I do not know," he replied on swallowing. "Somehow, it strikes me as though… there _is_ a pattern. I do not know, I am missing something here, Cyborg…" He leafed through his notes again distractedly. "They seem almost… _too_ random."

"And it is your belief that speaking with Dr Usher will be able to shed some light on this matter?"

"I am hopeful, yes." Robin sighed, looking out at the darkening sky. "Somehow, I do not think that catching this vile creature is going to be at all easy…"

"Is it ever, my boy?"

"Sometimes surprisingly so."

They ate in silence for a while.

"You do not think that Dr Usher will be displeased by my showing up unannounced at this time of night, do you?" Robin asked suddenly.

"Perhaps for a mere trifle, he would be, but considering the circumstances, I should not think he will mind."

Robin nodded.

"Then I shall go after supper. This matter grows urgent, and if I am to slay this creature before it claims another life…"

"You will be patrolling tonight, I dare say?"

"A vampire's peak hunting time is generally between eleven at night through to around two in the morn," Robin replied. "Contrary to popular belief, they generally do not linger past then."

"You will return at around three, then?"

"That is my hope. I am rather tired and do not wish to be out all night if I am to make headway with my investigation on the morrow. However, as I do not wish to wake you upon my return, I would be grateful for a key, if you have one to spare."

"That I do, and you shall have it as soon as we are done here." Cyborg smiled. "How in this world did I ever manage to acquire a lodger who stays out until gone three in the morn, and then seeks to awaken me from my slumber with his clattering return?"

"It is only my regret that I am not socializing at that time," Robin muttered. "It must be told, however, that I am more likely to return drenched in viscous werewolf blood than fine ale…"

"Ah, my boy, but to some, that might serve to make you more interesting…"

Robin snorted and looked down, concentrating on his food.

Certainly to three of the four people (barring Garfield Logan) he had made acquaintance with today, his occupation had been a source of great interest.

To Dr Roderick Usher from a professional standing; to his daughter from a completely _different_ standing that actually made Robin a little hot under the collar when he thought about it.

And Raven Roth… He had truthfully been unable to draw a line there, between interest that was professional and interest that was sexual. Usher and his daughter were easy to distinguish, but _Raven_…

She was something else.

He had liked her – _trusted_ her, even, admiring her frankness and intelligence – but there was a little something about her that got him.

Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Were you aware that Bruce Wayne has a step-daughter?" Robin inquired, looking up at the priest again.

Cyborg nodded.

"Yes, but I am one of the few who is aware of the fact. As far as I know, it is not something he brags about." Cyborg looked long and hard at him. "How did _you_ come by that piece of information?"

"I met her myself, in the Wayne Manor News Archive only this day…"

Cyborg nodded.

"You should be honored, then. The girl, fair thing that she is, is painfully shy, as far as I know. She rarely leaves the house itself."

_Shy_? Robin frowned. She hadn't seemed shy when he had spoken to her – in fact, _she_ had been the one to instigate the conversation…

"The good Dr Usher has a daughter also," Cyborg went on.

Robin felt a tiny smile manipulate his mouth and quickly flattened it.

"Yes, I am aware of that. Lenore."

Cyborg frowned now.

"How is it that you have come to know these things, Robin?"

"Ironically enough… I met Miss Usher today also."

"How peculiar." Cyborg grinned. "You are already chasing down the fairest women of Gotham?"

"Coincidental on both accounts, I regret to say. I just happened to share my cab with Miss Usher on my way back here from the news archive."

"And now you require to go to the Usher House tonight, Godspeed?" Cyborg's grin only broadened. "Forgive me if I see a coincidence in _that_, sir."

"Cyborg, my endeavors tonight have nothing to do with Miss Usher!" Robin snapped. "Dalliance with the fair Lenore will bring me no closer to slaying this foul raven beast…"

"On first name terms already?" Cyborg snorted with laughter.

Scowling, Robin stood and took his half-full plate to the sink.

"Cyborg, you are quite impossible at times," he said stiffly. "And forgive me, but my hunger has been satisfied. As it begins to grow dark, I had better make haste with my departure."

Cyborg nodded and waved his hand.

"Away with you, sir. The night is young, and not only for unholy beasts…"

"As per usual, your casual jesting does little to amuse me," Robin said arduously.

"Well, it must be said that you never did have much of a sense of humor…"

Robin stalked out of the room and climbed the stairs, muttering to himself as he heard the priest laughing. Slamming the chamber door, he crossed the room and sat on the bed, checking over his person for all of his weapons. Unsatisfied, he hooked his bag out from under the bed and rifled through it, retrieving another two stakes and slipping them into his belt. He unbuttoned his left sleeve and removed the Hebrew-inscribed knife from it, pushing the material back to buckle a thin sheet of metal with a leather strap over the underside of his wrist.

Vampires were prone, when attacking, to go for the wrists because of the exposed veins; and more than once, had Robin not been wearing wrist-guards, they would have been ripped open in a fight too close for comfort. He took the other from his bag and tightened it over his right wrist.

Each of them was inscribed with a cross.

Standing to button his sleeves again, Robin caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Moving closer to it, he scrutinized his appearance thoughtfully and decided that he should change his shirt. There was nothing really wrong with the white one he was wearing, and had he been going anywhere else…

But _Lenore_, what if she…?

By the time he shook his head and told himself he was being ridiculous and affected, he had already taken off his waistcoat and loosened his cravat. With a sigh, he pulled off his shirt too and threw all three garments onto the bed; and delving into his bag, he pulled out a black shirt, black pinstripe waistcoat and dark red necktie.

"Was my humor really so feeble?" Came Cyborg's voice from the door just as Robin tightened his tie; the slayer jumped and then gave his friend a guilty little grin.

"Come now, Cyborg; should a man not look his best when he goes out of a night to slay monsters?" He asked nonchalantly, picking up his coat from the bed post and shrugging it on.

"I cannot concur that you ever adopted such an approach to this business before," the priest replied. "I believe you have ulterior motives, Robin, which is why I bring _this_."

Cyborg held out a single red rose.

"Why, Cyborg, I merely—" Robin started.

"Take it for the young lady, sir. It will delight her."

Robin scowled.

"Cyborg, I must tell you now, my motives for embarking upon a calling to the Usher House have little do to with Miss Lenore," he snapped. "This is business, and _macabre_ business at that."

"I did not say otherwise," Cyborg answered mildly. "But may I ask, if this is business – merely this, and nothing more – why you felt it necessary to change your garments?"

"Well, I…" Robin trailed off hopelessly, glowering.

The priest smiled and held out the rose to him.

"Take it, my boy. For once, pursue something of _beauty_ in your unwholesome life, instead of these gruesome specters night after night."

Robin took the rose and touched its soft crimson petals.

"_If only it were that easy_…"

**TT**

With a knack for observation, Father Victor Stone didn't miss much; and _this_ had been no exception.

Leaning against the wall of the cab, the single velveteen rose clutched in his fingers, Robin gave a half-weary, half-dreamy little sigh.

These were feelings he had scarce ever felt before; the beautiful, saintly Lenore had awoken something in him he had not known existed. A little warmness, a little light; something that that had not been there before.

As though she had flung open a shutter, and with many a flirt and a flutter, something in him had been released.

It was something so uncontrollable and so new he felt rather scared of it; and yet, at the same time, he liked it, bathing in the feeling itself. He did not know how to label it; and did not really know how to deal with it.

All he knew was that he wanted to see her again; and although Lenore was not the reason for his visit to the Usher House, he was, admittedly, hoping to see her – and hence the changing of his clothes.

The cab journey from the church to the Usher House lasted little more than ten minutes and all too soon the slayer found himself stepping down from the carriage to the pavement outside the magnificent House of Usher.

Opening the gates, he started up the gravel path towards the front door, slipping a stake into his hand from his sleeve more for comfort than anything else; the grounds of the house were dark, the lawns cast with moving shadows.

Any of which could be something _more_ than shadows.

However, he reached the front door of the beautiful old house quite unscathed and pulled on the bell-rope. He slipped the rose into the back of his belt beneath his coat and pulled out his journal instead as a prop to plead his case to be allowed to speak with the doctor, since he knew that it was highly unlikely the Usher would answer the door himself.

True to his presumption, when the door opened, it was not Usher who looked out at him; instead, a rather frazzled-looking butler eyed him up and down suspiciously.

"Can I help you, sir?" He asked finally, in a voice hoarse and ragged.

"Good evening to you, sir," Robin greeted him graciously, laying it on thick; "I have need to speak with Dr Usher for only a few moments, if that would not be too much of an intrusion."

The butler squinted at him, looking him up and down again; unlike Lenore (_Starfire_), clearly the man did _not_ like what he was seeing. As Robin found with a lot of people, they took one good long look at him (usually dressed in mostly black), acknowledged the large silver cross at his neck, noted that he wasn't a priest and so (quite rightly) assumed that he was mixed up in other, more distasteful ways of spreading God's word.

Cyborg did it with books and blessings; Robin did it with stakes and silver bullets.

"That would depend," the butler drawled, "on who – and _what_ – you are, my lad." His gaze lingered on the cross. "You are a holy servant of the Lord?"

"Something like that." Robin's tone was near-pleading now. "Please, this is rather urgent…"

The butler snorted.

"If you have a sickness, or know of someone who has, you can take yourself off, boy," he sneered. "The master is not that kind of doctor. Perhaps you are confused, sir?"

Irked, Robin shook his head.

"No, I assure you I am quite in my right mind. I am aware that Dr Usher is a mortician, and that is precisely why I must speak with him. Please, this is about the nature of these horrific Raven Murders…"

The butler looked at him hard again, as though seeing him in a new light.

"You are that "slayer" the master spoke of at dinner," he said, almost to himself.

Robin nodded earnestly.

"Yes, I met with Dr Usher only this morning."

The butler nodded too in reply and opened the door.

"Come in," he said, not sounding too thrilled at having to allow the slayer into the house. "I will fetch Dr Usher for you. Please note, however, that the good doctor is a very busy man and will not take kindly to you disrupting him from his work for too long…"

Robin was about to retort that stopping this murderous creature was quite a bit more important than Dr Usher being annoyed at him for interrupting his work, but the aggravating butler was gone.

Standing in the hall of the magnificent house, Robin looked around; trying to quell his disappointment as he realized he was probably not going to see Starfire tonight.

Distracting himself, he was just admiring a proper Japanese _katana_ in a glass case on the wall when the butler returned, Usher behind him.

"Young sir," the butler introduced his master ominously, "may I present Dr Roderick Usher, PhD."

"That will be all, thankyou, Hugo," Usher said serenely; the butler gave a little bow and left the hall.

"Well…" Usher turned his gaze on Robin; ironically, he actually looked rather pleased to see him. "And just what can I do for _you_ at this hour, Mr Grayson?"

"Well, I do not wish to take up much of your time, since your butler said—"

"Oh, _bosh_!" Usher laughed. "That Hugo. He is not fond of visitors, whoever they are. Pay him no heed."

"A-alright, well…" Robin cleared his throat. "I know you were so kind as to let me look at your files earlier this day, but I have a few more questions, if you would do me the further kindness of answering them, doctor. Your answers would help me to determine exactly what kind of vampiric being it is that we have on our hands here."

"I see." Usher nodded. "Very well, I will try to answer your questions. Shall we step into my office, lad?"

Robin gave a little nod and Usher led the way down the hall, stopping at door at the far end and pushing it open. Robin followed him in as Usher closed the door.

"I do hope you will forgive my rather eccentrically macabre tastes in upholstery," the doctor apologized with a small smile, crossing to his desk. "But the truth must be told that I do not care for the straight-laced floral patterns of the rest of the house, and so my preference reigns in my own private study. I hope it does not unsettle you."

Robin nodded in understanding, looking around. Personally, he would have called it "gothic" at best – both the mantelpiece around the fire and the desk at which Usher resided were constructed of dark heavy wood, elaborately-carved with intricate patterns that were not typical of furniture nowadays. The chair in which Usher sat – and the one opposite the desk – were similar dark wood, with red velvet cushions. Three cases of books lined the walls – painted deep burgundy – filled with thick leather-bound volumes; and the cases' designs reminded the slayer of something medieval, with their sharp edges, castle window-like glass fronts and their black wooden frames. Despite the fact that the rest of the study was completely spotless, cobwebs hung from the chandelier above, as it was unused; a fire in the grate lit the place up with an orange glow, and Usher lit a small gas lamp at his desk also as Robin sat in the chair opposite him.

Robin smiled faintly, feeling strangely at home.

"It does far from unsettle me, sir," he replied warmly.

Usher raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I suppose between two fellows such as we – you a slayer dealing with unholy beasts and I a mortician dealing with their victims – it would take slightly more than petrified wooden bookcases to send a chill down our spines…" Usher gave a little shake of his head. "But enough of this mindless chatter and to the matter at hand."

"Very well."

Robin opened his journal and pulled out a few sheets – his notes he had made in the Wayne Manor news archive earlier that day. Offering them to Usher, he watched the mortician as he took them and leaned back in his chair, holding in one hand and chewing on an unlit pipe, which he held in his other. Robin shrugged off his long black coat and folded it in his lap, toying with the cross at his neck absently as Usher read.

After a few moments' silence Usher put the notes down and looked up, finding himself a match and lighting up his pipe.

"It would appear, my boy, that you have taken note of something I noticed myself," he said finally, indicating to the sheets. "I admit to neglecting to mention it this morning as I admittedly did not think it to be of any real importance, but if _you_ have noticed it too, then perhaps it is indeed _worth_ taking heed of…"

"The victims…?"

Usher nodded.

"Precisely as you deciphered yourself, sir." The doctor leaned forwards, an almost excited glint in his eyes. "_They are all female_."

Usher pointed to Robin's notes; the boy had written such a statement in block capitals and then encircled it.

Robin nodded.

"Yes, the newspapers themselves have not written anything of the sort, but I could not help but notice myself that no males have been attacked or killed by the Raven Murderer. Curious, is it not, doctor?"

Usher nodded again.

"It _is_ something of a curiosity…"

"So I bring my question to you," Robin went on. "You must know something of the nature of these killings, and of the frequency. I find myself unsure of what kind of creature we are dealing with – it is unquestionably vampiric, but I cannot distinguish the type, if you will."

"I would find it most helpful if you would elaborate, sir."

"Well…" Robin thought about how to explain it for a moment or two. "In my experience, there seem to be generally two types of vampire in both nature and nurture. They are most often solitary creatures, preferring to hunt and travel alone, and for this reason must learn by their own occurrence rather than being taught by those more experienced than them. So you will most often find yourself confronted with either one type of vampire or the other. The first of these types is what I initially presumed this Raven Murderer to be – newly-blooded, hungry and hardly experienced enough to realize the sheer folly of killing every night. The frequency of these killings would appear to point at such an instance."

"And the second variety, sir?"

"The second type is the older, more experienced vampire," Robin replied. "If a vampire manages to escape the slayers and priests for its first few years, it is only natural that it will gain cunning and precision in its methods. The pattern of killings is usually the foremost clue to distinguishing between types; the more experienced vampire will not kill beyond its need since they know that my kind will most undoubtedly be upon its trail. However, their attacks generally tend to have some sort of pattern to them, as this string of killings does. As for the newly-blooded variety… their attack frequency is much higher, but unplanned. There is generally no connection at all between victims – they kill because they are hungry and desire to feed."

"But these Raven Murders would appear to have characteristics of both," Usher mused thoughtfully, drawing on his pipe.

Robin nodded.

"You can see my problem. I simply do not know what to think anymore…"

"Then let us look at these poor young ladies again," Usher replied, taking up the notes again and looking through them until he found the list of victims' names. "There have been six killed within the week, and I can concur now that not more than one was killed on any single night. There have been six consecutive murders, starting upon the eve of last Sunday… "

Robin gave a little nod of thanks.

"Well, each of the victims seem to have little in common with one another," Usher acknowledged. "I think it would be safe to assume that none of them knew one another. All that ties these six unfortunate young women together is their age-group – mid to late teen-age years – and their gruesome killer."

"What do you know of them, doctor?"

"That the majority of them had no friends or family to speak of. Tara Markov's body was the only one identified and named; the other five were simply given "code-names", if you will, as we have no way of tracing their real names. One can only assume they were factory workers, from poor houses or prostitutes."

"Yes, I did think that the names in the newspaper were rather strange," Robin noted, taking a look at the sheet himself. "For example… "Blackfire". "Kitten". "Argent". "Bumblebee". "Kole". I cannot possibly conjecture the reason for such peculiar names…"

"I was not involved in the naming of these poor girls," Usher replied mildly. "The idea of nicknames has always been something of a "trend" in this city. Most anyone you will speak to will have some kind of pet-name. I can only suppose this is the reason why the workers in my morgue decided to name the victims as such."

Robin nodded distractedly.

"Then poor "Terra" makes for six."

"It would seem that way."

Robin sighed.

"And with these scarce facts the way they are, I fear that I may be unable to predict where the beast will strike next. I regret that that the death toll may have risen again, doctor, by the time I dispatch this villain."

"It would seem the cards laid upon the table thus far are not in our favor," Usher agreed.

"Then precisely how am I to fathom—"

Robin was cut off as a sudden piercing scream echoed through the floorboards, coming from upstairs. Instinct to act upon such a sound – a wail of sheer terror, as he recognized – trained into him, the slayer sprang out of his chair, his entire body tense and taut.

Usher went deathly white.

"…My daughter…" he choked out, frozen in his place.

Something _new_ snapped in the slayer.

(And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!")

_Starfire_.

"Where is her room?" Robin yelled, racing for the door of the study and wrenching it open. Like a man possessed, Usher leapt from his chair and was behind him in a matter of seconds.

"She has… her own quarters… on the top floor!" He told Robin breathlessly as they ran side by side down the corridor and started up the staircase.

Another scream resonated through the house, accompanied by the clattering of what sounded like collapsing furniture.

At least the scream signified that the girl was still alive.

If not for long.

With a sudden burst of new anger and energy, Robin sprinted ahead, following the dying echo of Lenore's second scream. Another crash of wood beyond a closed door aided him, bringing him right to the scene of her struggle; he kicked the door in and stormed the room.

He gasped, stopping dead for a moment or two.

There it was, just as described; a hideous black hulking creature, enshrouded by shadow which seemed to _cling_ to it; which paused and lifted its head as the door swung open with a bang and granted the slayer access.

Robin could distinguish nothing of it – it was simply too _black_ – but it was clear to him why it was called the "Raven Murderer".

Its eyes had all the seeming of a demon's that was dreaming.

The lamplight over it threw its shadow on the floor, beyond the smashed-in window through which it had made its unwelcome entrance.

It was a huge and terrible creature, and although he could not possibly begin to wonder what it even _was_ – for sure he had never seen any kind of vampire like this before – he could not neither question its title.

His gaze dropped from it, searching wildly for Usher's daughter; the creature loomed over her where she was collapsed on the floor, quivering in her nightgown.

Unquestionably, if not for Robin's perfectly-timed distraction, she would be dead.

Robin's hand plunged into his belt as he dived into a handspring that put him behind the creature, pulling out the coiled length of wire-cord as he straightened up.

The hideous beast, with a sudden roar, turned upon the slayer; and still he could see nothing of it as he lashed out with his length of wire.

The length wrapped around the beast's forearm and caught, cutting into it; and the creature let out a harsh, piercing screech as Robin wrenched on the wire, biting into its flesh and sending a spray of blood upwards into his face. With the slayer momentarily blinded, the raven creature used the opportunity to knock him backwards to the floor; the wire bit into Robin's fingers as he collapsed and he didn't fall on his arm correctly because of it.

He gave a sound halfway between a gasp and a grunt as a shock of pain shot up the length of his arm from his wrist; gritting his teeth, he wiped the blood from his eyes with his sleeve, letting go of the wire and lashing out with his legs instead as the creature turned back on Lenore – he brought it to the floor and wrenched a stake from his belt.

"Lenore!" Came Usher's cry from the doorway.

"Get her… away from this chamber!" Robin ordered desperately, rolling to his feet and grasping his stake in bloody fingers.

Usher ran to his daughter and pulled her to her feet; hauling her out of the way amidst a fresh scream from her as the beast, now upright again and blocking Robin, lashed out for her once more.

"Thing of evil, if bird or devil!" Usher cried, pushing his daughter behind him as the creature backed them against the wall. "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave my daughter be!"

The creature let out another unholy roar as suddenly Robin was behind it; and the stake plunged squarely into its broad black back.

The stake slipped in his bloody fingers and he missed its heart.

With inhuman strength, the creature threw Robin off – stake and all being ripped out of its being – and with a single swift motion was gone through the window and out into the night.

Uttering a little moan, Robin dropped his stake to the floor and inspected his wrist. Not broken, but definitely sprained; it hurt to flex it, but he _was_ able to. The wire had also sliced into his fingers; not too deep, but with a lot of blood, and hell, they _stung_…

But for this, there was no time. Taking a fresh stake from his belt, the slayer went to the broken window and leaned out.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing…

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token—

The fearsome raven creature was gone, and when Robin looked down at the sill, he saw harsh splashings of stark crimson blood on the white wood, broken glass and the purple velvet curtains.

The thing was injured, and badly; and if Robin knew his unholy creatures of the dark, the vampiric being would not be hunting any more tonight.

"You are unharmed, Miss Usher?" He asked, straightening up and looking over his shoulder at Usher and his sainted maiden of a daughter.

Lenore – _Starfire_ – disentangled herself from her father's protective grasp, blinking at the slayer; clearly she had not recognized him until just now, so terrified had she been.

"It is… _you_…" she breathed, her green eyes taking on a fantastic glitter at the sight of him.

Dr Usher blinked himself.

"Lenore… you have… _met_?"

Starfire nodded earnestly.

"Quite by coincidence, father, we shared a cab only this afternoon."

Usher gave a grim little nod, taking her hand.

"But you are unscathed, my little Starfire?"

She smiled.

"Yes, I am quite unhurt, with thanks to this young man here." She beamed at Robin again; who, when battling the fearsome Raven Murderer, had been quite unafraid – and yet now, when faced with that smile, he felt his knees turn to liquid.

The slayer loosened his tie a little; then hissed and winced as he realized he had done it with the hand he had just wounded.

"Oh, you are injured!"

Starfire pulled her own hand from her father's and went to the slayer, who very discreetly recoiled slightly from her; snatching his hand away less discreetly when she tried to reach for it.

"Ah, thankyou, Miss Usher," he said jauntily, putting it behind his back. "But I really should… I must be—"

"No!" Starfire cried, making him jump and cutting him off. "Please, Mr Slayer… _Robin_…"

She looked at him through her long eyelashes, her eyes imploring.

"It is because of me you are hurt. The very least I can do, sir, is to attend to your wounds…"

"Well…" Robin looked wildly up at Usher, fully expecting him to pull his lovely daughter away and tell her to go to bed; as she had been in the process of doing when the beast had attacked her.

But he only offered a dour little smile, seeming almost amused.

"I shall tell Hugo to fetch the bandages and bring them up, Starfire…"

"Wha…?" Robin could only stare after the man as he even gave a little smirk and left the room. "…_Wait_!"

The door swung shut; and Starfire threw her arms around him, pulling him down onto a small sofa against the wall of the chamber.

"I cannot thank you enough," she whispered into his shoulder. "You undoubtedly saved my very life…"

He opened his mouth to reply and couldn't get out much more than a dry squeak, so closed it again.

"You are so very brave and skilled," she went on, still talking into his shoulder.

"Ah…" He found his voice and forced out a little laugh. "You seek to make me immodest, Miss Usher."

"Starfire. Please."

"Very well, then, Starfire…"

He pushed her back and looked hard at her.

"Perhaps now you owe me your life," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "but to what do _I_ owe this afternoon?"

Starfire averted her eyes for a moment or two.

"I—"

The door opened again and, as before, they sprang apart, Starfire's hands going to her hair to toy nervously with it. Hugo – the frazzled butler – entered the room, carrying a small wooden box; Dr Usher was behind him.

"The bandages, my lady," the butler said graciously to Starfire, handing her the box; which she took with slightly shaking hands.

"I thank you, Hugo…" She put the box on her lap and opened it.

Usher dismissed Hugo with a little wave of his hand, watching his daughter.

He saw her shaking hands.

"Lenore, my love…"

She looked up, startled.

"Yes, father?"

Usher looked briefly at Robin before returning his attention to her.

"I cannot help but feel that you are more shaken by tonight's events than you have let on."

"I will be fine, father. I am quite unharmed."

"That I can see, but…" He looked at the slayer again. "If you would prefer, and if young Grayson here does not object to the notion… I would not be adverse to his staying the night, if it would make you more comfortable."

Robin's eyes widened.

"Oh, but sir, I could not possibly… That is, that would be highly improper for—"

"Properness does no longer come into this equation," Usher interrupted coolly. "It is clear that I would have lost my Lenore this night if not for you and your bravery. You have repelled the beast once, but what if it is to return while my daughter slumbers?"

"With all due respect, Dr Usher, I feel it is unlikely that the creature will attack again tonight, much less return to this house. It has been gravely injured upon my stake."

"But you cannot be positively _sure_ of this."

"I…" Robin paused for a moment or two. "No," he admitted finally. "I cannot be certain."

"Then you will understand my concern." Usher clenched his fists. "This monster seeks to destroy and murder the fair and innocent maidens of this city. It will _not_ take my daughter from me…"

He turned his gray eyes – pleading – on the slayer.

"Please, I am aware that it is uncomformist, but I beg you; stay to watch over my daughter. I could not possibly defend her against such a fearsome creature. Besides…" Usher looked Robin up and down again, as he had done that morning. "You seem to be a trustworthy young man of good morals. I am certain that it will not enter your head to abuse your position tonight…"

Robin shook his head vigorously and Usher gave a curt little nod.

"Excellent. I cannot thank you enough." He went to the door and took one last look at his (_living breathing_) daughter. "Goodnight, my Starfire…"

"Goodnight, father."

The doctor gave Robin another nod and left once again.

"Now, Robin…" Starfire began to rummage through the bandage box again. "Let us see if we cannot make that hand as good as new…"

"You are unconcerned about my staying?"

"If my father trusts you, then so do I. He is a man of excellent judgment."

"You do not worry that I might… try to take advantage of you?"

Starfire looked up at him, blinking.

"You would not, though, would you?"

Robin shook his head.

"Of course not. But doubtless…" He trailed off, gazing at her radiance. "…There is many a man who _would_…"

She gave a little giggle.

"If you do not object to my saying so, sir, you are not exactly a _man_…"

He smiled, slightly taken-aback.

"There are few who would say that to my face."

"Then there are few who speak the truth. And yet…" She touched the side of his pale face. "…It seems as though you spend you life surrounded by those who lie. It seems almost as though you are _used_ to it."

He put his own hand on top of hers, forgetting himself for a moment.

"In my occupation, I slay unholy creatures which disguise themselves; vampires, werewolves, undead… all of which create an illusion to blend into human society. In a way, I suppose you are correct, Starfire; I _am_ surrounded by lies."

"Have you ever found truth?"

"I am not certain." He let go of her hand and she removed it. "I am not certain at all."

Looking down, suddenly quiet, she pushed back his cuff and removed his wrist guard, taking up a cloth and wiping away the blood on his fingers. He winced, but didn't utter a sound. He was…

Not a boy; and yet, as she had rightly said, not a man. Somewhere in between – and it was a very hard place to be.

Because, really, he had no place at all.

She wrapped a bandage tightly around his sprained wrist and bloody fingers and secured it with a pin. Shutting the box, she rose and placed it atop a wooden cabinet, then looked over her shoulder at him.

"As I am sure you have apprehended, this is not my bedroom…"

Robin nodded and got up too, buttoning his sleeve as he went; he followed her through a door into a large adjoining room. It was lushly furnished, with crimson velvet curtains at the tall window and sheets of purple silk on the queen-sized bed. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, painstakingly half-lit to give out a dim, subtle glow, and the carpet was thick and cream-colored. A fire burned in a wrought metal grate, making the room very warm and comfortable.

A bust of Pallas resided above the chamber door.

She sat at her dresser and picked up a silver-backed brush, running it through her sheet of brilliant red hair.

"This room is fit for a princess," Robin acknowledged, leaning against the dresser.

Starfire giggled.

"I am no princess, sir, but I thank you anyway…" She put the brush down and turned to him, rising. "And I thank you for agreeing to stay and protect me also. It is truly very kind and noble of you."

He opened his mouth to reply; and the words died on his tongue as she swept in and gave him a tiny kiss on his cheek before fleeing over to her bed and diving under the covers.

"Goodnight," she said, her voice muffled.

"I…" He paused, touching his face; and then snapped out of his spell and went over to the wide windowsill and sat down.

"Goodnight," he replied softly, bringing his knees up to his chest as he gazed out of the window.

She said nothing more and he gave a little sigh, looking out at the night; awaiting, by the gradually dimming light from both chandelier and fire as they burned themselves out, the dawn or the return of the Raven Murderer.

Whichever came first.

**TT**

Neither.

What came first – clutching and gripping upon him from within darkness and silence, broken only by the sighs of the lost Lenore, (lost to sleep and dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before) – was his curse.

What overtook him while he nodded, nearly napping on the windowsill, were convulsions of the most horrific kind.

His _red death_.

He clutched at the wall, coughing, gasping for air; his fingers (_bandaged, stinging to high hell_) clawed and scrabbled at his tie, tearing it loose and throwing it aside, even though the freedom from it did nothing to help him.

He was not being strangled. What was happening came from _inside_.

His lungs caught, he couldn't get any air in, couldn't breathe; black patches began to cloud his vision, agony screamed in his skull and somewhere within him a real scream built up but couldn't force its way out of him—

And then something pushed, unloaded; he coughed and retched and black poured out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin in a single thick black stream.

Most of it went on her carpet.

It didn't clear – he started coughing again, unable to halt it. It was compulsive, controlling, and _he couldn't breathe_. He brought his hand to his belt, searching in his blindness for a handkerchief—

And came away with a single red rose.

He dropped it from convulsing fingers and was sick onto her floor.

A macabre mess of blood and blackness; rancid-tasting, rotting…

The coughing subsided and he paused there on his hands and knees, gasping for air; with black, like Indian ink, still dripping from his mouth.

And then _she_ was there; the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.

She crouched down, putting a hand to his back and helping him up.

"You are sick," she said softly, bringing him to the bed and letting him sit on it.

"I am most terribly sorry…" he replied hoarsely, massaging his temples. "I shall clean it up now…"

"No…" She took up the corner of her sheet and wiped away some of the black from his mouth. "I heard your coughing; it was truly horrendous. You are sick. Please, I pray… What is that matter with you? Why do you not see a doctor?"

He pushed her away, hating her seeing him so… _weak_…

"I have no sickness," he said as firmly as he was able, standing. "I am merely feeling rather under the weather. If I might be allowed to use your bathroom for just a moment…?"

She nodded speechlessly and he briskly walked away towards her en suite bathroom, locking himself in.

He threw himself up against the wall, half in fatigue and half in frustration. Resting his forehead against the cool porcelain, he wiped away the beginnings of tears that were forming under his mask and bit his lip.

It had _never_ been that bad before.

He had never thrown up with it.

He looked in her mirror and gave a little groan; his chin was smeared with black, some still dripping, his raven hair was tousled, his skin was near-white, and his collar was open and disheveled, tie-less and looking terribly untidy for it.

She obviously thought he was an idiot. An absolute imbecile.

A little boy, pretending to be a man, slaying creatures no-one else was _mad_ enough to stand against; employed in a self-invented occupation that was laughed at by most.

The kiss on the cheek… Pity. Gratitude for saving her,

But realistically…?

Not that it meant anything anyway.

He washed himself up, rinsed his mouth to rid himself of the taste and tamed his hair and collar; and, taking up a damp towel with which to clear up the mess he had made on her floor, unlocked the door and ventured back out into the dark bedroom.

All but one candle of the chandelier had burned out, and the fire was little more than a red glow.

She was sitting on the window sill, looking out at the night.

He crossed the floor and crouched down, putting the towel over the black puddle, watching her.

"Leave it," she said softly. "Come and sit with me."

He hesitated, then left the towel on the floor and joined her at her request.

The rose was in her hands.

She looked up at him shyly, smiling slightly; he couldn't see her very well due to the lack of light, but he was certain that she was smiling.

"You… brought this for… me?" She asked softly.

He couldn't force out any words, so simply nodded.

"I did not… it must have slipped my mind to give to you…" He found his voice a little late, blurting the words out in one rush.

"Well, you were rather preoccupied…" She twirled it in her fingers by the stem. "I simply adore roses. They are most joyous, and yet… they are also rather sad. They represent so many things…"

"Such as…?"

"Death. Blood. Memory." Her beautiful face drew close to his for the second time that day. "…_Love_…"

For the second time that day, they sought to breach "properness".

This time there was no bumpy cab to upset their own personal ride.

So they kissed.

Long and hard and deep; on the windowsill, by the light of a milky, misty moon, clouded by the pollution of the city.

The slayer found truth.

(_And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"—_)

Merely this, and nothing more.

* * *

Ooh, the RobinxStarfire-ness…

Deal with it.

And no, they didn't have sex…

Beast Boy and Raven are both back next chapter! Hurrah!

Check out the piccie… _please_?

Oh, and as a bonus: EDGAR ALLAN POE IN THE MEDIA – You can find this dude out and about on the cover of The Beatles album _Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ (on the top row), his name is also mentioned the in The Beatles song _I Am The Walrus_. More modernly, Green Day mentioned Poe in their song _St Jimmy_ on the _American Idiot_ album. And of course Poe's work frequently shows up in _The Simpsons_, most specifically the rendition of _The Raven_ and _Bad Dream House_ from _Treehouse of Horror I_.

Check him out too!

RobinRocks xXx

P.S: BTW, do I have _any_ predominantly RobinxStarfire shippers around here? Any at all? O.o


	7. The Journal of Richard Grayson: IV

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Sunday 2nd November, 1845_

_Later_

_As I recall, only this morning did I write of the previous evening's happenings (and my "reward" for the saving of the radiant Lenore); it was before I descended the stairs to the kitchen to discover there not only the good Father Stone (my companion Cyborg), but also the young man whom, though one Garfield Logan, I have come to know as simply "Beast Boy"._

_Of course, Beast Boy was there for a reason, and a most grievous one at that._

_Last night, even after being wounded by myself during its attack on Usher's daughter, the beast took another life._

_There has been a seventh victim._

_But there was something slightly **different** about this killing._

_However, the worsening of this situation does not end here._

_And as I vowed I would, I will now chronicle here what I promised to do so earlier._

_As Cyborg pointed out, it would seem that this vile creature appears to know that I am tailing it, and not simply because I last night attempted to nail a stake through its hideous heart. _

_For a beast such as this to know of my identity implies cunning; an intelligence not associated with these creatures, old or new bloods alike._

_And if not for its deed only last night, after its taking of the poor seventh girl, I would not believe this to be so._

_But taking away my information source would imply such a thing to me; and to Cyborg too, it would seem._

_There seemed to be nothing for it but to go to the Wayne Manor news archive and conduct a search myself; to my immense surprise, Beast Boy opted to accompany me._

_So many things did we find there._

_The key to the difference in the seventh killing, which I myself took to Dr Usher._

_And Wayne's step-daughter. _

_Admittedly, the initial trust I felt for the girl is beginning to waver. I am unsure quite what her motives are – I do not believe her to be against my case, and yet I cannot help but feel that she is…_

…_**hiding** something._

_Perhaps this city has simply made me paranoid; it is admittedly charmless in comparison to Metropolis._

_After this brief interlude and the departure of Raven, I felt that further investigation was in order, and in truth what I truly wanted was an interview with Bruce Wayne himself. It was my hope that he had perhaps witnessed or heard something the previous night. _

_Alas, though Beast Boy and I gained an audience with Wayne through the staging of ourselves as journalists, it was apparent he had witnessed nothing._

_He did, however, shed a little light on a theory of his own concerning the Raven Murders._

_Unlike Usher, it would seem that Wayne is far more skeptical in his belief in the supernatural. His personal theory is that this string of killings is merely a design of fear – one which gives an appearance of being monstrous so as to instill dread within the public._

_He also disclosed to us a very important name._

_And that name is none other than "Professor Jonathan Crane"._


	8. The Telltale Heart

Wow, it has been suuuuuuuuuuuch a long time! I am _sooooooooo_ sorry! Blame the stupid site and their stupid always-down alert service…

Well, thankyou to all reviewers! **The First Angel** (glad YOU like RobinxStarfire!), **Quinn and His Quill **(NO chastity belts!), **LoopyLousise123, Ravenluvver, YamiTai, Guardian of Azarath, Rochelleteentitan, Narroch, Poison's Ivy, Li-kun05, JenniGirl1 **and** Me **(so glad you liked the pic, BTW!)

Just some overall notes – Robin's sickness. It's not real, so don't go Googling it. It has characteristics of real illnesses, but… you will see. It is NOT nice, but it's not real, either. It's not tuberculosis. It's not lung cancer. It's not Marburg Ebola (_if_ that even exists, Narroch!).

Secondly – I don't care how much you kick and scream and whine. This story is **RobinxStarfire**. Not _RobinxRaven_, however misleading the title is, and there are no slash pairings at all either.

Thirdly, names. Yes, I know that technically it would make more sense for them to be referred to by their correct names (most pointedly, Victor and Garfield), but… quite honestly, fics that call the Titans "Vic" and "Gar" and "Kori" REALLY annoy me. Because as much as I love _The New Teen Titans_, I do draw a _huge_ line between them and the cartoon. It's a completely different take, and so I like to disaffiliate between them.

So it made me happier to write the fic calling them by their familiar names. Unprofessional, yeah, but it makes me happy…

Fourth – I _hate_ Darren Shan! **HAAAAAAAAAAAATE!!! **And I _have_ read three of them, before you start on to me about not giving them a chance…

_Anyway_…

_Nevarmore – IV_

The Telltale Heart

"Where is he?" Garfield Logan stormed, brandishing the newspaper wildly as Father Stone shut the back door. "Tell me, Father, for you must know! _Where is he_?"

"Garfield, my child…" The priest put a hand on the teen's shoulder to quieten him. "Calm yourself down, sir. Where is whom?"

"Him!" Garfield snapped. "That wretched co-called "slayer" who waltzed in here only yesterday morning. Tell me where he is, sir, so that I may show him that his title, of yet, precedes any demonstration of his skill…"

Cyborg was floored.

"Begging your pardon, Garfield, but simply _what_ do you speak of?"

"Ha! First tell me where he is! Bring him down so that I might speak with him, and then you shall know, Father Stone…"

The boy was hysterical; the priest could see that immediately. His eyes were wide and he breathed heavily, clutching that morning's paper as though his very life depended on it. Stricken with grief over Terra, it was Cyborg's assumption that "Beast Boy" had redirected the blame onto Robin rather than the Raven Murderer itself, perhaps because he was sorely aggrieved that Robin had not shown up in time to stop the creature before it took his fiancée from him.

As _for_ "that wretched so-called slayer"…

He had not returned at all last night, and Cyborg was gravely worried for his friend's safety.

"I am afraid that his whereabouts are something which I desire to know myself," the priest said, sighing heavily. "He went out last night to hunt for the creature and has not returned."

Beast Boy sobered up immediately.

"He did not… come back…?" He looked at the newspaper, biting his lip. "Then perhaps—"

The teen cut himself off, listening intently to the sudden sound of footsteps on the wooden staircase.

"Who comes thereof?" He whispered.

Cyborg shook his head, biting his dark lip.

"I could not say," was his hushed reply. "There is, in lack of Robin's return, nobody upstairs…"

"Perhaps…" Beast Boy went very pale. "Perhaps the murderer…?"

"I do not think—"

"You shall harm no other!" Beast Boy screeched, interrupting him and snatching up a knife discarded on the kitchen table; he lunged forwards with animal speed as the kitchen door opened—

"Holy…" Robin didn't finish, being forced to dive aside as a knife came right at his face. He slammed against the kitchen wall as the knife sank into the doorframe, wielded by a panting, wild-eyed Garfield Logan.

Breathing out an incredulous, audible sigh, Robin looked over at his would-be attacker in amazement.

"What in heaven's name do you call _this_, sir?" He snapped, pushing away from the wall. "Why, only yesterday morning you accused me of committing murderous assault upon you when some of my weapons became dislodged, and now you actually _attack_ _me_? What is the meaning of this? Have I done something to grievously offend you?"

Pulling the knife back out of the doorframe, Beast Boy looked up at Robin, half in relief and half in anger.

"What madness!" He replied aggressively. "Quite honestly do you think I would attempt to deliberately harm you?"

Robin blinked at him, incredulous in light of almost having had his brain skewered through his eye socket.

"Then why the knife?"

"I thought you were the Raven Murderer." Beast Boy raised his chin. "In retrospect, we cannot afford to let our guard down."

"Vampires can't survive in daylight," Robin told him shortly, taking the knife and handing it to a speechless Cyborg. "And just _what_, pray tell, caused you to jump to such a tenuous conclusion anyhow?"

"Here is a better question!" Cyborg put in, pushing Beast Boy aside and getting in the slayer's face. "Where were _you_ last night? You did not return at three as you promised! I have been grievously worried for your safety – it was my morbid belief that you had perhaps been injured, or worse, _killed_ by this raven creature which you have been hunting. What do you say to _that_?"

"Which," Beast Boy added, "brings us right back to why we thought your presence signaled that of the Raven Murderer. Father Stone was adamant that there was nobody upstairs, since you had not returned, and therefore how could anything else have gotten upstairs without first climbing them? Only a supernatural creature could perform such a feat!"

"I myself have a fairly acrobatic ability," Robin said coldly. "I came in through the window."

"That does not explain where you have been," Cyborg snapped. "And you had better have a plausible excuse for worrying me so."

"Does saving another life from the Raven Murderer's clutches bode well enough with you?" Robin asked boredly.

Cyborg and Beast Boy both blinked at the slayer.

"What…?"

"But how can you…?"

The slayer gave a little wave of his hand and walked over towards the kitchen counter to get himself something to eat.

"Now just hold it right there, sir!" Beast Boy suddenly snapped, waving the newspaper again. "You could not possibly have saved any life last night!"

Robin stopped dead.

"And why do you say that?" He asked softly, his voice dangerous.

"Because another murder has been committed!"

"What?" Robin whipped around in astonishment. "This cannot be true! I myself drove the beast away from-"

"See for yourself, sir." Beast Boy tossed him the newspaper, which Robin caught in one hand and smoothed out.

There it was; a seventh victim. A female (of course), found on the street, her throat torn open and drained of her blood; the newspaper had dubbed her simply "Jinx" for the time being, in acknowledgement of the poor girl's pure unluckiness. And yet, one thing stood out differently about this particular killing; unlike any of the other bodies, Jinx's heart had also been torn out of her body, and had disappeared. The newspaper cited its opinion that perhaps the Raven Murderer had eaten it.

"But I…" Robin was horrified; he had foolishly, _stupidly_ assumed that the creature would retreat for the night after his wounding of it.

If only he hadn't stayed at the House of Usher, Lenore be damned, and pursued it, he might have saved _this_ poor girl's life.

And yet, he knew it was only by happy coincidence that he had even saved _Starfire's_.

Sinking into a chair, Robin put a hand to his forehead.

"I… The thing attacked when I was at the house of Usher, attempting to do away with his daughter." He looked up. "And I stopped it. I dispelled the creature after wounding it."

"That is where you were for the rest of the night?"

Robin nodded.

"Yes, Usher himself requested me to stay in case the vile beast returned." He looked at the newspaper again. "It did not, but took the life of this poor girl instead." He flipped the front page absently. "Clearly it is a ravenous being, to attack again even after being wounded."

He sighed deeply, fidgeting with the bandage at his wrist; evidence of his battle with the beast.

"I have never known a vampire like this before," he admittedly softly. "I fear that I may be slightly out of my league."

"You must not give up!" Beast Boy was angry again. "You vowed that you would kill this monster!"

"I will most certainly not give up," Robin replied wearily. "However, I cannot promise that this thing will not kill _me_ first. It is strong, and… _different_…" He held up his bandaged wrist. "I did not come away unscathed myself."

"You have need to see a doctor?" Cyborg asked worriedly

"It is only a sprain. It does not need medical attention." Robin tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. "Nevertheless, I have learned that the creature is strong, and _fast_. It does not have the clumsiness of a typical new blood. Between Dr Usher and myself, we cannot as of yet decipher exactly what type of vampiric being it is. It harbors the characteristics of a combined variation, which hypothetically cannot be possible, but…"

"Then what exactly are we dealing with?" Beast Boy demanded.

"Truthfully, I am not entirely sure myself. But as this matter has taken a decided turn for the worse, I have no time to slack."

Robin glanced down at the second page of the paper absently, forgetting he had turned it unthinkingly.

Then he blinked and stared at it again.

For the headline read; WAYNE MANOR NEWS ARCHIVE RANSACKED.

"What is the matter?" Cyborg asked, watching Robin in puzzlement as the slayer picked the paper up and started to read hurriedly.

Robin didn't answer for a few moments, immersed. Finally;

"This only grows more worrying…" He folded the newspaper and got up. "The entire news archive in Wayne Manor Library has been torn apart."

Cyborg and Beast Boy exchanged glances.

"What does that have to do with the Raven Murders?" Beast Boy asked.

"I was in the news archive only yesterday, gathering information on the six previous victims of the murderer." Robin ran a hand through his hair. "Strange, would you not agree, Mr Logan?"

"It is your belief that this creature knows that you are stalking it?" Cyborg asked in a hushed voice.

"It would appear that way." Robin made for the door. "I feel that I should go to Wayne Manor to seek an interview with Wayne himself. Perhaps he may be able to shed some light on this matter."

"I should like to accompany you," Beast Boy said suddenly, pulling his cravat straight. "If that would not trouble you, that is."

"Ah…" Robin blinked, floored; then shook his head to snap himself out of his stunned reverie. "If it would please you, sir, you are most welcome. I warn you, however; this is not some grand adventure, nor an expedition of merriment. This business is more serious than you can imagine."

"I am aware of such a notion," Beast Boy replied icily. "After all, my beloved Terra was stolen from me by this beast only yesterday."

Robin gave a curt nod.

"Very well. I shall return momentarily. And please refrain from bringing that knife – I cannot promise you I will be so lucky next time…"

He went upstairs, threw some water on his face and quickly changed his clothes (a dark brown waistcoat combined with a white shirt and gray slacks, finished with a dark gray cravat, made him look a lot less morbid); then restocked his belt with various weapons _just in case_, strapped another wrist guard over his bandage and threw his overcoat on over the whole lot.

He slipped his notebook into his pocket alongside a pencil.

He rejoined Beast Boy in the kitchen and, after bidding Cyborg a good morning and promising to check in before going out on patrol that night, led the way out onto the street, where they waited for a passing cab.

"_So_…" Beast Boy mused, looking up at the grey fog that seemed to constantly hang over Gotham City. "…Usher's daughter, hmm?"

Robin scowled.

"To coin a term, "Beast Boy"…" he said coldly, "…_shut up."_

**TT**

"So what, pray tell, do we do now?" Beast Boy asked, looking over at Robin.

He pointed at the freshly-painted "NO ENTRY" sign put up outside the closed-off wreckage of the news archive, as if the slayer couldn't see it with his own eyes.

Robin frowned, folding his arms. He hadn't expected it to be closed off already, but there was a chain across the doors, clearly locking it up tight.

"It seems we shall have to find our own way in," he replied after a while.

Beast Boy blinked.

"Ah, but… it says "No Entry". Surely then we must abide by—"

"I am not a lawbreaker by nature," Robin interrupted coolly, "but I think this is important enough to ignore this particular order, do you not agree?"

Beast Boy hesitated, then nodded.

"As you wish. Would you like me to attempt to locate another way in? I have something of an animal instinct for such things…"

Robin nodded.

"That would be most helpful, Garfield."

"_It is Beast Boy_," Beast Boy murmured as he walked away around the side of the building.

Robin scraped a few crosses in the dust of the ground outside the archive with the heel of his boot while he waited for the younger teen's return. As it happened, Beast Boy came back very quickly, beckoning enthusiastically. Robin followed him around the corner, where Beast Boy presented him with an unlatched back door.

Robin smiled.

"Good work, Beast Boy," he said warmly. "It would appear that Mr Wayne's employees are rather careless…"

The slayer slipped a stake from his sleeve into his hand as he opened the door outwards, just in case the beast had not left the building and did not take kindly to having the door opened.

When nothing jumped out at him, he entered, Beast Boy close at his heels.

At once it became apparent that the creature could not possibly be in here; although slightly dark because of the few small windows which let in only the grayness that was outside, daylight was daylight.

There was nowhere to hide from it in here.

The place was a mess; whole wooden stacks had been knocked over, sending newspapers, files and books all over the marble floor. Desks had been overturned, chairs broken – as thought the creature which had committed this (Robin was pretty confident that the perpetrator was the Raven Murderer) had been in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

Or agony.

Probably both.

"I can smell blood," Beast Boy whispered suddenly.

"So can I." Robin paused amid the wreckage of paper and wood, casually flipping his stake from one hand to the other. "Most probably from the beast itself; I recall mentioning to you and Cyborg that I wounded it last night."

Beast Boy nodded; then nudged the slayer in the ribs, pointing downwards at a faint, spattered trail of blood.

"There is our source."

"Indeed." Robin crouched down, examining it; he touched it and brought his fingers closer to his face. It was beginning to congeal; sticky on his fingers.

"It has been here a few hours," he said, straightening up again; he frowned. "Which does not entirely match the time frame of its attack last night. The raven creature assaulted Usher's daughter at approximately ten o' clock last night, whereupon I drove my stake into its back. The beast fled, and sure enough it bled, but for _this_ blood to still be partially wet…"

Robin rubbed his fingers together again thoughtfully.

"I would say that this has been here for possibly around four or five hours; no more than six. If the creature came straight here after fleeing the house of Usher, the blood would be dry. And yet, if it had waited and come here only five hours ago, the wound itself would have stemmed and bled no more…"

"Then what can this mean?" Beast Boy asked worriedly.

"One of two possible things." Robin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his fingers. "The first theory is that it was not the Raven Murderer which did this."

"You do not believe this?"

"No, I am inclined to believe that the answer is closer to my second theory."

"Which is?"

"That this blood is that of the girl."

"You mean…?" Beast Boy's green eyes were wide.

"Precisely. This is most likely Jinx's blood; according to this morn's newspaper, the girl's screams were heard by surrounding houses at around four in the morning. If the fiend came here after killing her, it would make sense that the blood would still be partially wet." Robin folded his arms thoughtfully. "It would seem to me that the Raven Murderer came here after killing its seventh victim, presumably to destroy the news articles that I was looking at only yesterday."

"But…" Beast Boy was puzzled. "Surely that would imply that this creature knew you were gathering information upon it."

Robin nodded gravely.

"It is as Dr Usher warned. This beast appears to know of my presence and occupation and seeks to hinder my mission, although I could not say if it is my appearance which has betrayed me. Again, I am perplexed as to quite what the nature of this vile creature is. It behaves as though a new blood, but no new blood would be so calculating as to destroy evidence of its attacks…"

"Where does this put us?"

"I am unsure. For now, let us separate and search this place. You must tell me if you find anything suspicious."

Beast Boy nodded and took off in the opposite direction, shuffling through discarded torn newspapers.

With a heavy sigh, Robin started his own comb-over, not expecting to find very much. He had never had a slaying case as complicated or confusing as this; at least he had always known what (and the nature of what) he was dealing with.

But this Raven Murderer… He was certain that it was a vampire of some variety; but of _what_ variety…

If _only_ his stake last night hadn't missed.

But then again, would a stake even _kill_ this monster? It seemed almost as though it was some kind of… super-vampire. Almost unreal; _spectral_. It had bled when he had attacked it, but the wound had not slowed it at all as it had fled. He had heard of vampires which could heal themselves during battle, but had (thankfully) never encountered one himself.

Was _that_ what he now found himself against? _Was_ he truly out of his league?

Would _this_ creature be the one to finally kill him?

The slayer danced a fine line between life and death most days of his life, and every now and then, when his _curse_ clutched at him more strongly…

He did not ever expect to become an old man; but it was something he tried not to think about.

As if killing things for a living wasn't depressing _enough_.

He sifted through the torn, dirty, bloody newspapers, looking for something distinctive. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but he could not afford to be careless. He was only glad that Beast Boy had come along to take half the workload. He admitted that he was growing to like the boy, despite his non-enamored first impression and Beast Boy's attacking of him with a knife only that morning.

Robin had met worse people; and _weirder_ ones.

He looked up sharply as he saw a sudden small movement out of the corner of his eye. Pausing for a moment, he studied the far wall, where he could have sworn he had—

Something _definitely_ moved that time; something small, quick, shadow-like.

In an instant Robin was on his feet and crossing the room, clutching his stake tightly. The shadow moved again, this time more quickly; lashing out, Robin caught the thing by something small and thin (he assumed it was a wrist) and threw it to the floor into the light. He was just readying his stake when…

"Raven?" He blinked at her, horrified by his rough treatment of her. "I… I most heartedly apologize, I did not realize…"

She blinked up at him, not looking entirely surprised, and accepted the hand he offered her to help her back up.

"I am so very sorry," he apologized again, attempting to brush her down; and then realizing what he was doing and backing off in self-alarm, praying that she would not think he was attempting to molest her.

Raven shook her head, rubbing her wrist.

"It is quite alright. I can understand why you thought it best to attack. For all you knew, I could have been the creature…"

Robin was floored.

"You… do not mind?"

"I wish that you had not thrown me to the ground in such a rough manner," Raven replied coolly, "but I can understand _why_ you did so. Does this satisfy you?"

Robin nodded mutely and Raven gave a curt little nod.

Collecting himself, Robin frowned at her.

"Forgive my bluntness, Raven, but why, pray tell, are you creeping around in here?"

"I am "creeping" because this place is now out of bounds; my step-father ordered me not to come in here for my own safety," Raven replied, "and the reason I am in here is because I saw you and your companion come in here yourselves but a few moments ago."

Robin blinked.

"But how…?"

"I observed you from my bedroom window." Raven offered him a little smirk. "It must be said, sir, that you are not exactly inconspicuous about anything that you do. You may as well be dressed in red, yellow and green for all the subtlety you have."

Robin regarded her icily.

"You dictate to me about the way I work, Miss Roth?" He asked coldly. "I should like to see _you_ do this job."

"I recall saying to you yesterday that I could not do what you do," Raven replied snippily. "I have not the strength, the skill or knowledge. Nevertheless, _Robin_, it would seem to me that you may be in slightly over your head. You do not appear to know where you should turn next, while the Raven Murderer has taken your primary information source from you."

"You imply that I cannot defeat this creature?" Robin barbed, turning away from her angrily.

"I have not seen you work," Raven said levelly in answer, "so I could not possibly say. All I can say is that it seems to me that you are up against something quite different to that which you know."

"That is a fact I am quite aware of," Robin retorted shortly.

"Perhaps I might be of some help?"

Robin looked over his shoulder at her.

"I do not know. Perhaps you heard something last night? The manor house is joined onto the library building, am I correct?"

Raven nodded.

"You are, sir, but I regret to inform you that I heard nothing last night. It is a very big house." She gave a hopeless little shrug of her slender shoulders. "I do apologize. I was shocked – as I am sure you were – when I heard the servants speaking of the terrible damage. My step-father forbade me to come down here, but I had to come when I saw you."

"It is alright." Robin sighed. "I do not expect that there are any witnesses to this particular attack. Although…" Robin looked up at her again. "Perhaps your step-father heard something? Would I be able to speak with him?"

Raven blinked.

"Oh, I do not know if that is such a good idea. He is a very busy man."

"I see." Robin gazed very hard at her. "You could not possibly get me some variety of interview?"

"I fear that it would be quite impossible."

Her tone was adamant and Robin knew when to give up.

"Very well," he said airily. "Do not worry yourself. It matters little."

"I am sorry."

"I said it was meaningless."

"Well…" She suddenly seemed very eager to get away from him; probably because he had hurt her more than she would allow him to see. "I must be going before my step-father finds me gone. Last he saw me, I was reading in my chamber. It is his custom to regularly check on me."

Robin nodded.

"Then so it shall be. As before, I hope this will not be the last we meet."

"I doubt it will be." She gave a little nod and turned away, vanishing into the shadows she had been hiding in – he could only assume there was an entrance from the manor house back there which she had used.

Another dousing of the heebie-jeebies shuddered through him; there was something about her that _really_ got him, but he couldn't place it. What was it that—

"_Robin_!"

Beast Boy's startled cry echoing through the destroyed library cut into his fretful reverie, making him jump; shifting at once into a mode of action, he gripped his stake and quickly followed the sound of the younger teen's voice. He found him at the end of a closed-off stack, amidst a mess of torn paper and loose pages.

"What troubles you, Beast Boy?" He asked, slightly breathless as he skidded to a halt beside the other boy.

The other boy in question was on his knees, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open; he shook a little, and although he turned his gaze on the slayer, he could give out no more than a strangled croak.

"_Beast Boy!_" Robin dropped to one knee, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him a little. "What is wrong? Why did you cry out?"

"I…" Beast Boy's words died on his tongue and he simply pointed a shaking finger beyond Robin's shoulder. "The… t-the _heart_…"

Robin's brow creased into a frown.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"The heart…" Beast Boy swallowed, pointing more wildly. "Behind you, sir! The heart! _The hideous heart!_"

He was hysterical by the end of his sentence and Robin, alarmed by his words as his quick mind swiftly put two and two together, looked sharply over his shoulder.

And there it was.

The hideous heart. Poor unlucky Jinx's heart, torn from her body and dragged here by the Raven Murderer; leaving a trail of blood in its wake, and then finally flung here, ragged and barely in one piece – half buried beneath a pile of blood-soaked newspaper.

Beast Boy suddenly came back to life and scrabbled away, backing up against the wall.

"My God, quite what _is_ this beast which we are dealing with?" He whispered hoarsely.

Robin shook his head numbly.

"It is… unlike _anything_ I have ever…"

He trailed off, going through his pockets for a handkerchief. Locating one, he shook it out and crouched down, reaching for the heart—

"What in Heaven's name do you think you are doing?" Beast Boy demanded, grabbing his arm. "You do not seriously mean to pick that thing _up_, do you? Just what do you think you are going to _do_ with it?"

Robin looked at him coolly, shaking his arm free.

"A necessary evil, I am afraid."

He picked the heart out and wrapped it in his handkerchief, then found a clean(ish) sheet of newspaper and wrapped the handkerchief in that; and then, much to Beast Boy's utter abhorrence, slipped it into his pocket.

"_My God_, sir…" He gaped at the slayer.

Robin rolled his eyes.

"Garfield, believe me, I am no collector of such things. I must take this to Dr Usher for examination. Furthermore, I believe that it is only right the girl's heart be reunited with her body upon her burial."

He turned away and made his way briskly down the stack again, his coat flowing behind him like a cape. Stunned, Beast Boy stared after him for a few moments; then caught him up, still speechless.

Robin was standing in the middle of the wrecked news archive with his arms folded, apparently deep in thought.

"What… what do we do now?" Beast Boy asked softly, reaching him.

"Well, despite the protests of his step-daughter, I feel that I should seek an interview with Mr Bruce Wayne before we venture any further," Robin replied. "However, since she is so adamant that he would not take kindly to such a notion, I can see us being presented with the problem that we may not just walk up to the front door and request such a thing."

"Then exactly how do you intend to obtain such an audience?"

"Simple, really." Robin pulled out his notebook and pencil. "We engage in a form of acting. Are you much of a thespian, Beast Boy?"

Beast Boy looked at him blankly.

"I am rarely called upon to perform such a thing."

Robin smirked slightly.

"It is of no consequence. I am experienced in this role which I am about to undertake. I will require you to act as though you are my assistant."

"And just what role might this be, sir?" Beast Boy asked curiously, a little suspicious.

Robin held up the notebook.

"That of a journalist." He grinned. "Believe me when I say that no man I have ever met will turn down an interview if they believe it to be of a professional nature."

"You intend to lie?"

Robin rolled his eyes.

"Beast Boy, in my occupation, lying is the _least_ of my everyday sins… Besides, this is an act I have perfected through practice; my Metropolis associate Mr Clark Kent was also a great help to me."

"You do this often?"

"Rather too often for my liking," Robin admitted. "People in this modern day and age are not very willing to help each other out, much less answer the questions of a teenaged boy who calls himself a "slayer"… But if posing as a professional, employed journalist, I rarely encounter problems…"

"What is your need of _me_?" Beast Boy pressed.

"Just as I said; to act as my assistant. Admittedly, I sometimes do look rather unprofessional carrying my own things…"

"Excuse me?" Beast Boy was indignant. "You expect me to carry your belongings?"

"I am sorry to ask such a thing of you. But please, Beast Boy… it will enhance my act greatly…"

Beast Boy sighed jadedly.

"Very well…"

"Excellent. I thank you."

Robin pulled off his coat and dumped it in Beast Boy's arms, then removed his cross – always the dead give-away – and handed that to Beast Boy too. All of his visible weapons went into the pile too, including his stake – until Beast Boy was holding the mound quite far away from himself.

"I see a flaw in your plan," he said, looking around it.

"Which might be…?"

"How are we to get into the house? You have already stated that we cannot simply go to the front door and—"

"For once, I do not think that such a thing will be a problem." Robin spat onto his hand and slicked his hair back, at once looking less moody and more professional for it. "His step-daughter has proved to be incompetent in covering her tracks. I believe there is an entrance into the house somewhere in this library, so for she both got in here and vacated via an access that is not either the front or side door, that latter of which we ourselves entered through."

Beckoning, Robin made his way back over to the shadowed spot where he had ambushed Wayne's step-daughter.

"You are planning to break in?" Beast Boy asked in a hushed, scandalized tone.

"Are you going to assist me or are you going to stand there asking petty questions?" Robin snapped, beginning to search the wall for the doorway he believed to be there. "If it pleases you, sir, yes, we _are_ going to break in. But since we will be doing no harm to the property, nor taking anything of value or threatening the welfare of the residents, I would say that the nature of our "crime" has been depleted somewhat, would you not agree?"

"I will assist you," Beast Boy replied sullenly, "but know that if we are somehow arrested for this, I will deny all accusations that I even know you."

Robin paused and looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

"I suppose that I cannot argue with that," he replied amicably, shrugging. "You are an amusing one, Beast Boy…"

Beast Boy smiled the first genuine smile Robin had seen grace his face.

"You think so?" His smile widened. "Because I happen to know a few rather amusing jokes…"

His tone was hopeful and Robin offered him a little grin.

"Later," he promised. "For now, we have work to do…"

He found a little staircase wedged right back in the shadows, nearly impossible to see; he stepped down the four narrow stairs and found there, as he had predicted, a small door.

"Come, Beast Boy. I believe I have found what we are looking for…"

Beast Boy followed him downwards as he opened the door and peeked out into a much brighter-lit room beyond.

"Have _you_ ever been arrested?" Beast Boy whispered as Robin leaned out into the adjoining corridor – they were definitely in the manor house.

"_Sshh_," Robin chided him mildly in reply. "_Later_." He nodded for Beast Boy to follow as he had one final check and stepped into the corridor, ushering the younger teen through quickly and silently shutting the door again.

They looked around in awe for a few moments; even the House of Usher was not this lavish, stunning…

…_big_…

Usher's house had been immaculately but modestly decorated, with but a few ornaments scattered around on the walls and on stands (such as the Japanese _katana_ the slayer had longingly admired). Usher's own office had been of a more gothic nature.

But _this_… This corridor alone reminded both boys of a museum, with paintings hung along the lengths of both walls, and busts and ornaments (and even a full suit of armor) everywhere.

Everything was utterly spotless.

"What do we do now?" Beast Boy inquired.

"We find Mr Wayne." Robin started to walk along the corridor, Beast Boy scurrying after him, his arms still piled high with the slayer's coat and weapons.

However, they didn't get far before a voice calling to them stopped them in their tracks.

"Excuse me, sirs, but might I ask what you are doing in here?"

Turning to their addressor, it was soon plain to Robin and Beast Boy who they were; an ageing man, perhaps in his sixties, with grey hair and a neat moustache. His attire – a black and white suit with a smart, immaculately-tied bowtie – gave the impression of a butler, but one not nearly so frazzled as that of the House of Usher.

The accent was definitely English.

"Ah, I am a journalist, reporting for the Gotham Gazette," Robin lied smoothly, putting a big smile on his face and (Beast Boy noted) looking a completely different person for it. "This is my assistant. We have a scheduled interview with Mr Bruce Wayne about the attack on the news archive last night."

"Indeed." The butler did not look entirely convinced; and Beast Boy eyed Robin nervously, biting his lip. "You are certain that your interview is scheduled, young man? The attack only happened in the early hours of this morning, and since it is, by the clock, only nine in the morning now, I do not see how it could possibly have been arranged beforehand. The _attack_ was not planned, certainly…"

Robin shrugged, icy cool beneath the façade.

"I was merely told by my editor this morning to come here to seek an interview with him. It was his word that Mr Wayne is expecting us."

"I see." The butler raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for being suspicious, sirs, but one cannot be too careful. Might it be a further privilege of mine to ask exactly how you got into the house?"

"Not at all. A member of staff let us in."

"It is impossible for you to be more specific?"

"I saw the fellow only briefly." Robin held up his notebook. "But truly, we are here only for an interview. Five minutes of Mr Wayne's time is all we require."

"Hmm." The butler eyed them both scathingly for a moment or two, then seemed to relent. "Very well. I shall bring you to Master Bruce's quarters."

He nodded for them to follow him.

"I am Mr Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth," he said a little stiffly, not looking back at them. "And your names might be…?"

"Ah, I am Richard Grayson," Robin replied after a brief mental debate about whether he should give a false name; he decided against it, not seeing a reason to do so. "My assistant's name is Garfield Logan."

"A pleasure, sirs." The Englishman's voice was devoid of any real feeling, pleasure or otherwise, and Robin and Beast Boy exchanged glances behind the butler's back.

What _was_ it with butlers?

They soon reached the door of what the two boys could only assume was a study of some kind. The butler, Alfred, knocked briefly before entering and closing the door behind him.

"It is my credence that he did not entirely believe you," Beast Boy hissed.

Robin nodded mildly.

"Indeed. It is of little consequence."

They fell instantly silent as the door opened again, heralding the return of Alfred.

"Master Bruce has very kindly granted you a brief audience," he informed them haughtily. "Ensure that you do not outstay your welcome, gentlemen."

"We thank you, sir. Come, Garfield." Robin led the way through into the study, Beast Boy close at his heels.

Alfred sniffed and shut the door after them.

Stopping side by side a little way into the room, Robin and Beast Boy were silent as they immediately located Bruce Wayne; he stood with his back to them, facing the fireplace.

Above the mantelpiece was a large and beautiful painting, at which Wayne seemed to be gazing. It depicted three people – a handsome man dressed in splendid finery, a most beautiful woman dressed in similarly wonderful attire – a gown of deep crimson – and between them a young child; a boy of about six or seven.

"Ah, Mr Wayne…?" Robin ventured forward a little, hoping Wayne was not going to ignore them.

He didn't; he turned to them and smiled faintly. Dressed in a fine suit with a deep purple silk cravat at his throat, although with a similarly-colored dressing gown thrown over his garments, he too was devastatingly handsome; with shining jet black hair and stone gray eyes.

"Good morning to you, gentlemen," Wayne greeted them mildly. "My butler has informed me that you seek an interview with me. This is correct?"

"Yes, sir." Robin nodded. "If it would not trouble you, that is."

"Not at all. However…" Wayne eyed them both warily. "You are adamant that such a meeting was pre-arranged?"

"My editor informed me so, sir."

"I can recall nothing of the sort myself." Wayne gave a little wave of his hand. "Ah, it is of no matter. What is five minutes between gentlemen?"

"I thank you immensely, Mr Wayne."

Wayne crossed to his desk and sat behind it, offering seats to Robin and Beast Boy in much the same fashion as Usher had the previous night.

"Before we begin, might I be permitted to know your names?" Wayne asked, weaving his fingers together.

"Of course, sir," Robin replied, flipping open his notebook. "I am Richard Grayson, of the Gotham Gazette. This is my assistant, an apprentice reporter by the name of Garfield Logan."

Wayne nodded.

"A pleasure. As you most obviously know, I am Bruce Wayne, sole survivor of the Wayne family name. I am certain you must have heard of my family."

Robin nodded, having indeed heard a little, if nothing else, from Clark Kent.

"I have, sir. I am truly sorrowed in light of the fates of your parents." His gaze flickered towards the painting, deciding that they must be Thomas and Martha Wayne, and the child with them Bruce Wayne himself.

Wayne smiled serenely.

"I thank you for your kind words, but do not be dejected. It is something that cannot be changed."

"Even so…"

Beast Boy watched his companion, tight-lipped; impressed with how well he was handling the situation and slightly disgusted at how easily he seemed to be able to lie. He did not dare say a word himself in fear of blowing their cover.

It was true; he had never been called upon to do such a thing before.

But then, he had never met anyone quite like Robin – this _slayer_ – before either.

"Well, it is not our wish to delay you in your business of the day," Robin said smoothly, "so perhaps if we begin the interview?"

"Certainly," Wayne replied graciously.

"Very well. First, if I might ask, what is your own personal reaction to these "Raven Murders", as they have been named?"

Wayne seemed to consider the question for a moment or two.

"Shock and horror I suppose are the collective feelings of the city, and therefore I admit to participating in those," he said finally. "These murders are most macabre in their nature, it cannot be denied."

Robin nodded distractedly, scribbling in his notebook.

"Does anything peculiar strike you about these killings?" He asked, still writing.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, has it occurred to you that there might perhaps be something slightly _supernatural_ about them?"

Wayne shook his head, his expression puzzled.

"Perhaps it is simply that I do not follow your meaning," he replied, "but quite frankly they seem like run-of-the-mill killings to me, with the exception of the sightings of this monstrous creature."

"You have not seen the creature yourself?"

Wayne shook his head.

"I have not, and neither has anyone I know. It would appear to be sighted exclusively at the scene of the murders, and only by those within the vicinity during or immediately after the attack. That is my understanding, anyhow, sir."

Robin nodded.

"That is what I have conjectured also." He looked up. "Do you have a theory of your own, then, sir?"

Wayne nodded.

"It is my belief that there is nothing supernatural about these killings at all, despite the rumors of a vampire roaming our streets. It would appear to me that this is a human crime, designed to _appear_ supernatural so as to instill fear into the public."

Robin blinked at him.

"You believe that it is a _human_ doing this?"

Wayne shrugged.

"It is but a theory. However, in my opinion, it is more believable than that of an actual vampire."

"What sort of sick human mind would play such a vile and twisted game with the innocents of this city?" Robin asked scathingly.

Wayne smiled faintly.

"I can name but one." He leaned forwards across the desk. "But a few years ago, I was unfortunate enough to have in my employ a psychologist and scientist by the name of Professor Jonathan Crane. There is no denying the man was brilliant, but there is no denying also that he was utterly _mad_. Crane was wholly fascinated by the notion of fear and how it allegedly controls society; he crowed mercilessly about how the law and justice system itself was managed by fear."

Robin nodded for him to continue, interested; even Beast Boy appeared intrigued.

"He was dismissed from Wayne Enterprises after he was caught in the process of creating a gas that induced the most terrible and horrifying hallucinations when breathed in," Wayne explained. "To this day I am unsure of whatever he intended to use his "Fear Gas" for, but it cannot be denied that it was probably for some evil gain."

Robin wrote "JONATHAN CRANE" in block capitals in his notebook and underlined it.

Definitely something to look into.

"What of the attack on your news archive last night?"

Wayne frowned.

"I am very puzzled as to why the killer – if it was even the killer – would destroy my news archive. Although…" Wayne pressed his fingertips together. "…By interesting coincidence, some of Crane's psychology journals were stored in there…"

"I see. How very interesting…" Robin underlined Crane's name a few more times.

He wasn't necessarily sure that Crane was his culprit, especially since he personally was still of the belief – and having seen the monster with his own eyes – that the creature was inhuman.

But Crane might be able to shed a little light on the matter; it was possible, by the sound of it, that he was somehow involved.

"You saw nor heard nothing of the attack yourself?" Robin pressed.

"I am afraid not. My quarters are rather far away from that part of the house."

Robin nodded; exactly the same answer as Raven had given.

It was not the answer he had been hoping for from Wayne himself, admittedly; but at least he had gotten something of a lead, which was much better than nothing.

He finished up the "interview" in a rather bland manner, asking questions that subconsciously he probably already knew the answers to anyway, but he knew it was important to finish the charade in a professional manner, lest Wayne perhaps realize that they had deceived him.

Hell, maybe he _already_ knew. Either way, he did not seem to mind answering the slayer's questions.

"We thank you most appreciatively for your time, Mr Wayne," Robin said finally, rising and offering his hand to the billionaire to shake. "It was most kind of you to accept our interview."

"Not at all." Wayne stood and shook first with Robin, and then with a rather bemused-looking Beast Boy. "I only hope that it is of benefit to you."

"I am quite sure your answers will not go to waste," Robin assured him, meaning every word of it.

Wayne nodded.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both."

"And an _honor_ to meet you, sir." Robin dipped his dark head in a little bow of respect before making for the door, Beast Boy scuttling after him, having not said a word since entering the room.

"We shall meet again, perhaps," Wayne said pleasantly from his desk.

"Perhaps." Robin gave him a final little nod and left, pulling Beast Boy with him.

"I apologize," Beast Boy said on their way back down the hall. "I said nothing. I was no help to you."

"On the contrary, it fitted your part perfectly," Robin replied kindly. "Apprentice reporters are not known for their talkativeness, for they are simply training and not permitted to ask questions."

Beast Boy did seem to cheer up slightly at that.

"So what is our next move?"

"We shall separate for now. I have a task for you, if it does not trouble you."

"Not at all. You work to catch the killer of my fiancée; during which time I am only too happy to be of service to you. If I can help you stop Terra's murderer, then of course I shall do anything you ask of me."

"I hoped as much." Robin ripped off the sheet of notebook paper with the words "JONATHAN CRANE" written on it, handing it to the younger boy. "Since you claim to have something of an animal instinct, I would like you to please go back down to the news archive and search through the mess the beast last night created for any books or articles written by the good Professor Crane. If you find anything, you are to take it. I shall meet you back at the residence of Father Stone at noon."

Beats Boy nodded.

"Very well. But what, may I ask, of you?"

"I plan to first stop off at the Rue Morgue to deliver to the good Dr Usher the heart of the unfortunate Jinx; then I shall venture on and attempt to find the office of Professor Jonathan Crane. Perhaps an interview with the fellow himself will help to clear up any misconceptions we may have about it."

"It is your belief that he is involved?"

"I cannot be sure, which is why he must be thoroughly questioned," Robin answered, taking his coat back and shrugging it back on.

Beast Boy nodded in agreement.

"Then before we part ways, might I be permitted to ask again if you have ever been arrested?" He asked, grinning a little.

Robin frowned at him.

"Why should you wish to know?"

"The nature of your occupation makes me curious, sir."

"I see." Robin bit his lip for a moment or two. "If it pleases you… I have been arrested _once_."

"What did you do?"

Robin sighed.

"It is an involved and pointless story which took place overseas," he replied, "but put frankly, I had a bit of a run-in with a fraud detective who really just did _not_ appear to like me…"

* * *

Yup yup, allusion to _Trouble in Tokyo_, yes it is!

Of course, that whole storyline would be switched around and I don't even know how a Victorian Robin would have got to Japan, but… Yeah, the "fraud detective" with an active dislike for our lil' slayer is meant to be Daizo…

Well well well, Brucie and the Scarecrow are in the equation now, aaaaaaand… well, you'll have to come back to find out where this leaves us!

And BTW, it is my birthday tomorrow! Whoo! I will be 18!!!! Scary!

RobinRocks xXx


	9. The Journal of Richard Grayson: V

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Monday 3rd November, 1845_

_Here again I find myself recounting the events of the previous night on the morrow's morn._

_How may I transcribe all of this? Once again, I fear that I must break this into two parts, for my mind is still very much abuzz with the latter happenings of last night. I cannot possibly find it within me to write, at this moment, all that has happened within a humble twenty-four hours._

_So then I shall begin with yesterday afternoon. _

_Bruce Wayne's utterance of the name "Jonathan Crane" had served to ignite my interest, and it was after our departure from the Wayne Manor building that Beast Boy and I parted ways; he obeying my order that he should continue to search the ransacked news archive for the psychology journals of Crane, mentioned by Wayne to have been archived in the library._

_I myself decided to go straight to the heart of the problem; and given poor Jinx's predicament, perhaps such phrasing is macabre, but I can cipher no other way of putting it. _

_On that note, I first visited the Rue Morgue to hand over the girl's heart to Dr Usher for examination, before proceeding onwards to locate and investigate the offices of Professor Crane himself._

_I have detailed this excursion in my casefile and see no reason to repeat it here, but it must be said that I did not find what I was expecting…_

_Upon my reunion with Beast Boy and Cyborg, the three of us began to piece together a most puzzling and distressing picture; Beast Boy had been unable to locate the aforementioned psychology journals in the raided news archive. Adding to this my own infallible deduction that those particular journals were Crane's discoveries in the field of the psychoanalysis of fear, we are left with a most horrifying conclusion;_

_Those books were stolen._

_So now what? _

_It is a question I have pondered over all day and all night._

_And while, at present, this is the most pressing matter at hand, my mind at the moment is cast back still to last night._

_For my tale does not end here._

_The whispered word "Lenore" makes itself heard in my mind again; and has escaped on my very breath so many times since last night._

_I cannot write of such a thing in here, private though it may be; the boundaries of so-called "properness" seek once again to keep us in._

_But last night I jumped that boundary, and she with me._

_What is she to me but beauty? Ah, so much more— _

_For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door, and ever yet was blest with **her**. She was as real to me then as any bird that might perch upon a branch (or a bust)._

_I saw no bird._

_I saw only her._

_The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, and there upon the night's plutonian shore beseeched to be mine forevermore._

_Alas, the answer than I gave her pained her; and pains me more._

"_Nevermore"._


	10. The Black Cat

Ah, it has been sooooooooooooo long since I updated, I'm so sorry…

Well over two weeks ago, I should think. In fact, nearer to three. I thought I'd update just in time for Christmas, although I don't expect many reviews too quickly since I know people are busy this time of year.

Anyway, thankyou to all who wished me a happy birthday last time! I had a great time and have actually been meaning to update so I could tell you about one of my presents, which is creepily uncanny – one of my friends bought me _The Complete Illustrated Works of Edgar Allan Poe._

She doesn't know I am writing this – she's not into _Teen Titans_ or writing or anything.

O.o Creepy-much?

_Anyway_… to me, Christmas is instilled with a Victorian atmosphere, most probably because it was the Victorians here in Britain who came up with most of the traditions, and is added to by the likes of _A Christmas Carol. _So what better story to update than _Nevarmore_? It is set in November, but it doesn't matter.

Anyway, thankyou to; **Rochelleteentitan** (you can catch The Scarecrow most definitely in _Batman: The Animated Series_ if you have ever seen that; there are at least three different versions of him, I think, because they kept changing his design to make him scarier. He's an extremely interesting villain and his real name is actually Jonathan Crane); **Luneko **(we won't be seeing so much of Bruce, but Crane does have a big part in this); **JenniGirl1 **(you don't like slash pairings? Then stay _well_ away from another seasonal update, _Small Print_. But don't worry – there is absolutely NO slash in this story whatsoever. You're safe! And yes, Raven is back this chapter!); **Beik **(thankyou so much! I'm glad you like this! There are definite writing style influences of Conan Doyle and Poe in this – they are two of my favourite authors. I don't know about Tolkien so much – nothing against him, he was a great writer, but I'm not a huge fan, and have only read _The Hobbit_); **Guardian of Azarath **(ahh, _Trouble in Tokyo_ hater! Dude, seriously? I thought it was awesome. Some of it _was_ predictable, yeah – I didn't figure out that the villain was Daizo, but it _did_ dawn on me pretty quickly that the "assassins" such as Saico-Tek were coming from the manga factory, because of the "Cyan, Blue, Magenta" colour coding on them – the same printing colours at the bottom of newspaper pages. When it showed at the factory was shut, it was kinda obvious… Yes, it _was_ definitely a fan-service, particularly the RobinxStarfire bits, but it made _this_ fan happy… Thanks for the creepy Slade impression, BTW…); **Me **(how about, for Christmas, you tell me who you really are? What started out as you leaving a review for _Black Magic_ and being too lazy to sign in has become a motif for you – you can't ever sign in now or you'll have to admit who you really are. Speaking of annoying people who won't ever tell people who they really are, Slade isn't in this story at all. Which makes a nice change, I have to say… O.o); **YamiTai **(wherever you are… two chapters have been updated on _Remember the Titans_ and there's no sign of you. You okay, dude? Hope you had a great birthday yourself, anyway…); **Li-kun05 **(nyes, Scarecrow – he is indeed an awesome villain. I love BBxTerra, and although I can't expand them in this fic, I will be doing a lot more with them in future, particularly in _Remember the Titans_ and the new co-authored fic Narroch and I are writing, _Red Rum_); **Quinn and His Quill **(a Merry Christmas to you, Quinn. Looking forward to _Malachi Claus/Claws_. Darren Shan should die – those books are so bad, I can't stand them… As for that fic you're talking about… Never heard of it. I must check it out sometime… _Heh heh_…); **Narroch **(um, yeah, I think the Scooby Gang would run away screaming from this particular case. As for The Scarecrow – I like him too, although some of the early episodes with him in _Batman: TAS_ are really bad, particularly the first design… Ooh, scary… _NOT_. As for the gaseous hallucinogens – I think they _did_ have them, actually. There is one used in a _Sherlock Holmes_ story, _The Devil's Foot_. Two brothers and a sister die of fear after inhaling the gas given off when the root is burned. But I'm not going with that anyway…); **Crazy Insomniac **(I haven't seen _Blade_ but I thought it was set in modern day, like _Constantine_. Obviously not. Once in Media Studies we got really excited because we thought we were going to watch and analyse _Blade_, but it turned out to be _Blade Runner_, which didn't impress us at all…); and **Poison's Ivy** (I can't drive yet – I'm still learning. But dude, you're short/near-sighted too? Me too. I'm supposed to wear my glasses all the time, but I don't because I don't like them. Slade or Trigon aren't in this, BTW; and Jonathan Crane is not an OC, he's a real character – the real name of The Scarecrow. Besides, it's a different spelling – _Black Magic_'s is "JonathOn" and The Scarecrow is "JonathAn". I analysed _The Telltale Heart_ in my English class too, in Year 11. Mr Clarke, my scary English teacher, was strangely obsessed with it… And yes, Raven is back! Jeez, how did I manage to pick up all these psycho Raven fans?).

Addressed to everyone; The Scarecrow was in the original _Batman_ Elseworlds series _Nevermore_. Just a bit of trivia for you. His role in that and his role in this are completely different, however.

Secondly; Slade isn't in this. Trigon isn't in this. Red X isn't in this. There is, after this chapter, only one more character to come into the fic, and they will be a HUGE surprise to you. There's a recognizable face in _this_ chapter, but they're not in it for very long, so they don't really count.

Anyway, please enjoy. I have something to say down bottom about the new fic Narroch and I have put up for Christmas, but for now…

_Nevarmore – V_

The Black Cat

"Must you pace so?" Cyborg asked irritably, watching the slayer restless walk up and down the space of floor just beyond the fireplace, his cravat loose around his collar and his coat and waistcoat thrown over a kitchen chair. "It is most distracting."

"This _waiting_ is distracting." Robin heaved a sigh and leaned against the mantelpiece. "Just where has Beast Boy gotten to?"

"Ah, patience, Richard." Cyborg pointed up at the clock. "Why, it is not even a quarter past noon. And…" The mocha-skinned priest grinned. "I notice that you too have taken to calling young Garfield "Beast Boy"…"

A little growl escaped the slayer from deep in his throat.

"Forgive me my familiarity, _Father Victor Stone_," he intoned spitefully. "He himself insisted that I address him as Beast Boy rather than Garfield…"

Cyborg rolled his eyes.

"Oh, away with you, sir. I am in no mood for your temperamental spite this day…"

Robin snorted and took a seat at the table.

"You look as though you would welcome some food," Cyborg acknowledged. "You did not eat breakfast, nor, as I recall, did you finish supper last night."

"Hunger is superficial at this moment," Robin snapped.

Cyborg snorted and fetched from the cupboard some dry biscuits anyway, putting them on a saucer and near-slamming said saucer down in front of the teenager.

"Robin, no matter what you may think, you are only human," he said firmly, signaling with his eyes (as he had last night) to the boy that he had better start eating. "Sometimes I feel you are _more_ human than any of us seem to be."

"And just what do you mean by _that_?" Robin demanded, breaking a piece off one of the biscuits and putting it into his mouth. "To whom exactly do you refer when you say "us"?"

Cyborg gave a helpless little shrug, pouring some tea for himself and his companion.

"Every acquaintance you have met. Myself, Beast Boy, Wayne's step-daughter Raven, and Usher's beauteous daughter, whom you have taken to calling Starfire… You strive to be the strongest – you strive to be something _more_. Tell me, just what do you think you _are_? Some kind of… _superhero_?"

"_Superhero_ is not a real word," Robin bit out, fitting two bits of biscuit back together like jigsaw pieces.

"Neither is _Cyborg_."

Robin snorted again and drank some tea so that he wouldn't have to reply; and he was spared having to do when he put his cup down as there came a knock at the chamber door. Cyborg went to it and opened it, revealing Beast Boy on the doorstep.

"Garfield, my boy. Do not simply stand there in the cold – come in, sir." Cyborg practically ushered him into the kitchen, where the teen sat at the table across from Robin; who was distractedly making shapes with his broken pieces of biscuit.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Richard!" Cyborg snapped, snatching the saucer away. "If you are just going to play with it, you needn't bother!"

Robin looked sulkily at him for a moment or two, then turned his attention towards Beast Boy.

"You are late," he said coolly.

Beast Boy looked up at the clock on the wall.

"By only twenty minutes, sir," he defended. "Besides, it was not time idly spent. I was searching the news archive, just as you ordered me to."

"You found something of use, I trust?" Robin's words were more of a statement than a question as he raised his teacup to his mouth again.

But to his dismay, Beast Boy gave a sad little shake of his head.

"I searched the entire room very thoroughly," he explained in a small voice. "I assure you most heartedly that I looked at every book strewn on the floor in there, and those left on the shelves… there were no books by Jonathan Crane, sir. None at all."

Robin stared at him for a moment or two, silent; then he rose and started to distractedly pace again.

"Will you please _stop_ that?" Cyborg snapped at him, bringing to the table a cup of tea for Beast Boy.

"I cannot…" Robin gripped at his ebony hair in frustration. "I simply _cannot_. This only grows more confusing, and I simply do not know which way to turn anymore…"

"How do you mean?" Cyborg asked; Beast Boy blinked in puzzlement.

"Well, I have a theory," the young teen put in when Robin did not answer Cyborg's question. "Mr Wayne said that some of Jonathon Crane's psychology journals were stored in the news archive. Wayne also led us to his own theory that it is perhaps Crane who is behind this, and he is using "supernatural" methods to frighten people, as was his primary psychological interest."

Cyborg nodded; Robin had already explained what Wayne had told them about Crane (while pacing earlier).

"So my theory _is_," Beast Boy continued, "that Crane is behind it all, and he broke into the news archive last night to steal his books back in case someone read them and recognized the methods. They were evidence against him, so he stole them back and destroyed them."

Cyborg nodded again, impressed.

"Perhaps Crane is dressing as this frightful creature and lurking near the murder scenes to create a legend," he said.

"_What I fought last night was no man_," Robin hissed.

"Ah, but you did not see it properly while fighting it, and you told us that it bled," Cyborg pointed out. "It could easily have been this Crane fellow in costume, and—"

"THE KILLER IS NOT CRANE!" Robin screamed furiously, stunning both of them into silence.

The slayer wearily dropped into his chair again as they both stared at him, alarmed by his sudden outburst.

"It is not Crane," he said again, his voice soft and tired. "Crane did not kill anyone, and he did not steal those books."

"And how can you say this with such certainty?" Beast Boy barbed.

Robin looked up at him, and suddenly he looked very worn out.

"Because," he said quietly, "Professor Jonathon Crane is _dead_."

**TT**

_It was a last-minute change-of-mind that compelled the slayer to instead stake out the office of Professor Crane first – he would call in to the Rue Morgue on his way back to Cyborg's parish house to meet Beast Boy at noon._

_He caught a cab, requesting to be taken to the offices of Professor Jonathon Crane – praying that the driver would know where to go. As it happened, he did, but he gave the slayer an odd look upon the request._

"_Why on this earth should you wish to go there, sir?" He had asked._

"_It is business," Robin had replied coldly._

_The driver had shrugged and opened the door for him, at which Robin had wordlessly gotten into the cab and found the darkest corner in which to sit so that he could think in peace._

_The driver's request of why he should wish to go to Crane's offices had only served to further pique his interest in the fellow._

_Following the brief journey through the smoky gray morning that was typical of Gotham City, he found himself standing outside a tall office building; a small tarnished brass plaque to the right of the door read the names of various occupants of each rented office. _

_It seemed that "H. Dent, Lawyer" could be found on the first floor, alongside the office of one "Professor M. Chang". "Isley and Quinzel, Botany Specialists" were up a floor, and next to them was "Harvey Bullock, Detective". And there, on the third floor, alongside the office named simply "Mumbo's Magician Supplies", was the office of "Professor J. Crane, Psychologist"._

_The slayer entered the building, making his way through to a dark, murky reception area. The desk was empty, signaling that no-one was going to stop him from going up. As he started up the narrow staircase he slicked his hair back again with a little more spit and pulled out his notebook. _

_If it had worked on Wayne…_

_He passed the first floor offices, noting that they were all occupied at this time in the morning, and the sounds of work were audible beyond the doors. The second floor offices were alike, but they too were ignored by him as he started up the third and final staircase._

_Mumbo's Magician Supplies appeared to be in business this early in the morning too, but…_

_Robin reached Crane's door and blinked._

_It was dark. There were no lights on at all, and the shady interior made it appear as though the curtains were drawn._

_Robin tried the door handle. It was locked. So he tried again, harder, frustrated. Still it remained locked._

_Frowning, he popped an elbow at the lock, hoping to jar it. It gave a little shudder but moreover did more damage to his arm than vice versa; hissing in pain, he stepped back, scowling deeply._

_Where was Crane?_

_At that moment, seemingly summoned by the shuddering of wood his elbow had created, the door of Mumbo's Magician Supplies opened and a bizarre, slightly blue-faced fellow with white hair peeped out. He looked quizzically up and down the corridor before his accusing gaze settled on the slayer._

"_What are you doing, young sir?" He barbed. "What business do you have up here, banging on doors?"_

_Robin smoothed out his scowl; perhaps this man could help him locate Crane._

"_I am looking for Professor Jonathon Crane," he explained, holding up his notebook. "I am a journalist and seek an interview with him."_

_The man just blinked at him for a moment or two._

"_Then you want to try the churchyard, lad," he said finally. "That is where he was last I saw him."_

_Robin frowned._

"_What… what do you mean, sir?"_

_The fellow snorted._

"_I mean that he is **dead**, boy." He nodded at the darkened office. "He died close to six months ago. Terrible tragedy; poisoned, the authorities said. He was never a particularly pleasant fellow, but still… His office there has been shut up for all those six months – they are finding it difficult to get another tenant since Crane was found dead in there."_

_Robin blinked at him, speechless._

"_Crane is… **dead**?"_

"_I am afraid so."_

_Robin put a hand to his forehead in confusion. If Crane was dead, why hadn't Wayne **said** so? Surely, having once had him in his employ, he would have known?_

"_I… I thank you, sir," he stammered finally, walking away from the door. He offered a brief nod to the man as he reached the staircase. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."_

"_It is quite alright." The man nodded in reply and disappeared back into his office with a muttered "Good day". _

_Frowning deeply, the slayer slowly descended the staircases back down to the reception area. _

_Crane might be dead, but Robin wanted into that office._

_Robin left the building and calmly made his way around the back, stepping over wild undergrowth and wilder overgrowth. Once there, he looked up at the building, assessing which window on the third floor was that of Crane's office. The dark one was logical, so he went and stood underneath it, going through his belt for an item that was technically still a prototype._

_Dangerous. He had used it once or twice before, but not without (superficial) injury. Still, next time he might not be so lucky…_

_He admitted he might have something of a passion for making up names for things; he called this thing – a long, robust cord with a hook attached – a "grappling hook"._

_Perhaps, in time, he would perfect the item – as for now, it was alright for getting **upwards** (which was what he wanted to do right now), but getting down was dangerous. The implications of reaching terminal velocity at such a speed, with his weight pulling on a cord that had not been designed for the purpose for which he was using it, was potentially harmful – a little too much strain potential, and his arms could be pulled from their sockets._

_Not a pleasant thought._

_Still, he hadn't jumped a very long distance with it, and hoped he wouldn't have to until he had bettered it. It would do for now, however._

_Grasping the loops of cord in one hand, he swung the hook over his head; reaching a satisfactory speed, he let go of it, holding the end as the metal hook went soaring through the air towards the outside windowsill of Crane's deserted office. It caught, scraping at flaking paintwork and splintering wood. _

_Grounding all of his weight, Robin hauled on the rope experimentally. It held fast, even when he gave a few sharp tugs. Pleased, he went to the wall and used it as a foothold to start pulling himself up; it was a terrible strain on his arms, and it took him a while, but eventually he reached the windowsill and perched on it, unfastening his hook and using it to pry open the window catch. Shoving the window up, he hopped into the dark office, pushing back the drawn curtains a little; wrapping up his grappling hook and putting it back in his belt, pleased with himself._

_He shut the window, leaving the curtains open just a crack to give himself a little light with which to conduct his search._

_The dead man's office was almost bare, as the slayer had expected. The shapes of a desk and chair, with dusty white sheets thrown over them, were visible pushed the side of the room. A tall near-empty cabinet had been spared a sheet; it was home to a few books, which he inspected. He found nothing of major interest or significance and put them back, disappointed._

_Truthfully, upon learning that Crane was dead, he didn't know what he had expected to find in here._

_Looking around, he located a few boxes near the locked door; perhaps he would find something of help in there instead. He started for them—_

_And tripped on something halfway across the floor, falling flat on his face. _

_Cursing under his breath, he knelt up and turned partway around to see what it was that he had tripped over._

_A floorboard, loose and sticking up slightly at one end, seemed to be the culprit._

_Standing, he irritably kicked it—_

_And was startled as the whole thing came loose, jarring upwards and sticking halfway to reveal a dark space underneath the floor._

_He paused for a second or two, still immensely surprised, and then dropped to his hands and knees to inspect his find. Grasping the floorboard, a quick tug pulled it completely loose, and he put it aside. That left him with a large hole in the floor, filled mostly with dust and a few crawling things – spiders, woodlice, earwigs._

_But there was something else too._

_A square object wrapped in filthy brown paper and secured with cord._

_He lifted it out and placed it on the floor, loosening the cord. Once that was away he could see that there was writing on the dirty paper, the pencil markings barely visible through the grime._

"_The Black Cat"._

_Frowning, Robin unwrapped the paper, finding four books – leather-bound journals. The front covers were plain, but he opened the first one and found a first page which all but explained what they were._

_The question was, what were Professor Jonathon Crane's psychology journals (a collection he had named "The Black Cat", presumably) doing hidden under floorboards of his old office? Had the man hidden them himself? With Crane dead, he knew that he could not possibly get an answer to that question._

_He flipped through the first book, looking at the pages and pages of tiny neat writing, pausing now and then to take better note of what was written. It was clear that the man had been a genius, but, as Bruce Wayne himself had cited, utterly **insane**. _

_He put the first book aside – he did not think it relevant. It was not about fear, but about attachments in modern human society (an elaboration on "No man is an island"). Taking up the second book, he flipped through that too, again discarding it when he discovered it to be about social conformity and majority influence._

_Sighing, he picked up the third journal – or what he **supposed** was the third journal. But looking at the "explanation page", he discovered that this was not book three, but book five. He picked up the fourth book too, to discover that it was the sixth._

_So where were three and four? Were they the ones that had been in Wayne's library?_

_The ones that had been taken?_

_Flicking through the fifth and sixth journals confirmed this suspicion – neither of them were about Crane's "Fear Theory". **Those** ones had been stolen._

_But by whom, and **why**? Clearly the Raven Murderer could not possibly be Crane himself, since the man was dead. Someone inspired By Crane's psychological findings, then? Perhaps an old accomplice of his? Or simply an admirer?_

_Robin could not say, but what he knew was this – whoever had those books was the killer._

_So, if the books were his trail, he had to find them._

_Before it was too late._

**TT**

"Did you take any of Crane's journals?" Beast Boy asked as the slayer paused in his narrative to draw a breath.

Robin shook his head.

"There seemed to be no need for it. Those particular journals were of no use to us. It is presumably the ones focusing on the psychology of fear which the Raven Murderer has taken. However, I cannot understand such a notion." Robin shook his head as he said it. "I do not think that these murders are being committed by a man. They have every characteristic of a vampire's way of killing, and the beast I fought last night was a terrible being that no man, costume or not, could ever replicate. I know the difference between a human and a monster, gentlemen – it is my _job_ to distinguish between them."

"There is no way for you to marry both theories?" Cyborg asked. "You have dismissed this, or has it simply bypassed you?"

"I have considered it, but I myself find it difficult to believe." Robin rubbed at his temples frustratedly. "Wayne's theory is that the killer is human, and is conjuring up the idea of the "Raven Murderer", making the appearance of the crimes supernatural so as to terrify people. A vampire certainly strikes more fear into the hearts of men than a regular murderer does. I myself, however, can almost certainly certify that the killer is inhuman – indefinitely of the vampiric variety."

"Has it not occurred to you, Richard, that perhaps the murderer _is_ a vampire, but is more intelligent than what you are used to and has designed the string of killings in such a way as to scare people?" Cyborg asked calmly.

"I have, and they do not marry," Robin replied coldly. "If the killer is a vampire, as I believe it is, then what _need_ has it to deliberately design the killings in such a way? A vampire killing has a distinctiveness about it – hence, I have been able to deduce so quickly what it is that we are dealing with. Bites in the throat, at the position of the jugular, will always betray a vampire, and these alone will ignite fear in people. Why design a campaign of fear when it is not needed?"

Cyborg was silent for a while, then finally gave a small shrug.

"I admit that I have no answer for you, Richard."

"I do not have one myself, Cyborg, and therein lies the problem." Robin toyed with the cross at his throat miserably. "I do not know what is going on here at all."

"May I ask something?" Beast Boy put in timidly. "It is not exactly _relevant_, but…"

Robin nodded slowly.

"Certainly, Beast Boy. Although, in light of today's findings, I am uncertain that I may be able to answer you."

"Might you have any idea why he called his omnibus of journals "The Black Cat"?" Beast Boy queried. "It just seems a most unusual name to me…"

"I admit to thinking it over during the cab journey back," Robin answered morosely. "My only theory is that it is associated with superstition. A black cat is said to be unlucky. Perhaps Crane himself had a run-in with a black cat?" The slayer shrugged hopelessly. "I could not possibly know. I am hardly one of telepathic abilities, and even if I _were_, Crane is dead. I fear that we never find out the reason for his unusual naming of his journal collection."

There was silence for a long while.

"What must we do now?" Beast Boy asked quietly, breaking it.

"I am unsure. Perhaps it is best that we separate for now. Beast Boy, I am sure that you have matters of your own to attend to, as does Cyborg."

Beast Boy gave a little nod and rose.

"And you?" He asked.

Robin stood too.

"I will attempt to make some sense of this. I feel that research is in order, and of course I must return to Dr Usher at some point today to discover what he has learned of the heart we found today. And nightly patrol is, of course, imminent. It is my hope that tonight I may be able to prevent the beast from taking any lives at all."

"Very well. I shall return on the morrow, then?"

"I think that would be best." Going to his belt, Robin pulled out a sharp, robust stake and offered it out. "It also might be wise for you to take this with you," he added, noting the younger teen's look of alarm. "If the vile creature knows that I have been tracking it, it has perhaps learned of your role in assisting me. If you are attacked, this is the only thing which will kill it, if you are to get it in the correct position. Crosses and holy water do not cause lasting harm."

"And what might the "correct position" be?" Beast Boy asked warily, half-reaching for the thing.

"Cyborg, if I might use you as a demonstrative figure?"

"Certainly." The priest allowed the slayer to flip the stake over in his grip and position it at his heart to show Beast Boy where to aim if he was attacked.

"Traditionally, a hammer or mallet is used to drive the stake into the heart," Robin explained, "but truthfully one sharp thrust is all you need." He placed the heel of his hand over the butt of the stake to show Beast Boy what he meant. "In this position, a sudden jerk of my hand would most indefinitely slay Cyborg here."

Beast Boy nodded uneasily, and Robin handed the stake over.

"It is unlikely that you will need it," the slayer went on, "but one cannot ever be too careful."

"It is my understating that your theory was that the creature is taking victims only of the female gender," Beast Boy pointed out.

"That is true, but I am unable to predict the behavior of this phantasm. Certainly it attacked me last night when presented with the threat of my stake. I am certain that the creature will not take gender into account if it feels threatened."

Beast Boy nodded.

"Very well. I thank you, sir."

He left, hailing a cab; Cyborg watched through the window until he saw the cab drive away.

"What of you then, sir?" He asked the slayer, not turning to him.

Robin looked up from where he had been gingerly unwrapping his handkerchief to see exactly how much black gunk he had coughed up during the cab journey back from the Rue Morgue that morning; he had been taken by another fit of it.

"What do you mean?"

"It is still your belief that you can conquer this beast?"

"I _must_, Cyborg."

"But what…" The priest lowered his voice. "What if you _cannot_? What if the _beast_ is the one to—?"

"I will not give up, Cyborg. You know that." Robin rose, regarding his friend rather coldly.

"I do know that, and I…" Cyborg trailed off as the slayer stalked past him, making for the staircase. "You _never_ give up. Robin, I worry. It is going to _kill_ you…"

Robin paused at the foot of the stairs and looked down at his handkerchief.

"Oh, Cyborg," he murmured bitterly, "I do not think that _that_ will be the thing to kill me _at all_…"

**TT**

"…Other than the fact that it was torn from the poor girl's body," Dr Roderick Usher said serenely, leaning back and lighting up his pipe, "there is nothing unusual about the heart you found this morn."

Robin frowned.

"That is what I expected, I admit." He looked up at the man. "You can derive nothing else from it?"

Usher declined his head with a sigh.

"I am afraid not. I have checked it for everything imaginable; teethmarks, drainage… The only damage to it was the ripping of the aorta and vena cava, which is logical. From that I can conjecture that it was torn out rather than cut, but that does not lend itself to very much."

Robin nodded, disappointed.

"It does not matter." Looking out at the dark sky through the window of Usher's study, the slayer rose. "I apologize for the abruptness, but I must be on my way. The foul creature may already be ahead of me."

Usher nodded.

"Very well." e pasued for a few moents. hhhhHe paused for a few moments, chewing at the end of his pipe. "You… you do not think that it will… come back for my daughter…?"

"I could not possibly say. I would gladly remain here to protect your daughter once again, but I cannot leave the streets unprotected. Where your daughter's life was spared last night, Jinx's was taken in her stead. I cannot allow that to happen again."

Usher nodded.

"I understand. I just worry that I will not be able to ward the beast off as you did."

"That is why I implore you to allow me to speak with her for a few moments before I leave." Robin pointed up at the ceiling. "I have brought something for her which will act as a charm to repel the creature, should it return."

Usher gave a curt nod.

"Very well. While it may be improper to allow you to visit my daughter in her own chambers, I fully trust that you have her best interests at heart. You may proceed upstairs."

"Thankyou, sir." Robin gave him a small, thankful nod and left the office.

He remembered the way from the night before and soon stood nervously outside her door, toying with his cravat while he waited for her to answer his knock.

"Just one moment, father!" He heard her call from beyond the door; and immediately hoped that she would not find _his_ contrary presence unwelcome.

Incidentally, when she opened the door (in her long purple nightgown) to find him in the hallway instead of her father, she blinked; and then smiled that radiant smile.

"Robin?"

The mingled surprise and delight was evident in her voice and he felt a blush creep up his face. He managed an awkward little wave of his fingers before managing to squeak out;

"_Lenore_…"

"_Starfire_." She stepped back, inviting him in. "Do not simply stand there in the corridor, sir."

He stiffly entered her room and turned to face her, wondering where his vocabulary was hiding.

"How is your wrist?"

"Fine, thankyou."

Silence.

"Well, this is a pleasure," Starfire said finally, "but just what brings you here? I assume that my father gave you permission to ascend up here, and so…?"

"I, ah…" Robin cleared his throat and delved into his belt. "I-I brought you… something…"

He fished out the tiny leather box and opened it, revealing, nestled in the black velvet interior, a simple silver cross on a glittering chain.

"Oh." She blinked at it, looking from it to him and then back again. "You… really brought that for… _me_?"

He nodded, taking it out of the box.

"It will protect you," he explained, unfastening the clasp. "My acquaintance, Father Victor Stone, has blessed it in Holy Water. Any unholy beast may not touch you as long as this is about your throat."

She turned around and lifted her hair so that he could fasten it around her neck.

"I thank you," Starfire said, looking down at it. "It is beautiful. It was most kind of you to think of me."

"You are welcome."

She turned to face him again, the cross glittering against her purple silk gown.

"You must not take it off," Robin pressed.

"I shall not." She clasped the tiny cross in her hand. "I promise."

He paused a while longer, then nodded.

"Very well. I must be going." He walked past her, making for the door…

…and didn't get very far. She caught his arm.

"Starfire," he started, turning to her, "the beast may have already—"

She kissed him. Held him. Tight. As though she would never let him go.

So he kissed back. Held _her_. _Tighter_.

As though, when faced with the climax of a battle – when the monster reared, roared, lumbered towards him for what it thought would be the final blow – she was his _stake_.

His lifeline.

He had saved her life; and was _she_ saving _him_ now? As she loosened his collar and his cravat and first breathed against, then kissed, his exposed throat; was she _saving_ him?

Pallas (_just above the chamber door; perched, and sat, and nothing more_) watched it all.

**TT**

"You must leave so soon?"

"I think you know the answer to that." Robin looked at her briefly over his shoulder, before turning away again and shrugging his shirt on. "I cannot waste a moment more."

"You believe your time to have been… _wasted_?"

"I…" He faltered (despising the female sex for being able to twist a man's words). "N-no, it is just that…"

His hands were shaking and he couldn't do his buttons properly.

"_Confound it_!" He hissed in frustration, pulling them undone again as he realized they were in the wrong holes, leaving it bunched up.

He paused for a moment to turn to her again; she lay on her side beneath the covers.

Naked but for the cross, her skin glowing gold; her red hair an exquisitely tousled wave falling all across her body. Her green eyes glittered at him and by God, he _loved_ her.

And it was not as though he needed to prove _that_ anymore.

Which was what terrified him.

"I have… I have things to…" He looked away from her again, buckling his belt. "The Raven Murderer prowls still, and I can ill afford to… to…"

"I understand that, but…" She reached out and touched the bare skin of his stomach, making him subtly shiver. "Do you feel as though your time has been… _wasted_?"

"Never." He gently moved her hand away. "Starfire, I would give all of the night's plutonian shore to relive those precious moments, but you must understand… _please_…"

"I have already cited that I do." Her tone was cool. "And know, sir, that under any other circumstance, it would be highly improper for you to simply leap up and rush out, leaving a lady when it is common courtesy that you should instead lie with her."

"Ha, do not speak to me about "properness", Miss Usher!" Robin hissed. "This is also why I must leave. For heaven's sake, what would your _father_ say if he were to—?"

"My father does not enter my chamber once I have retired."

"Perhaps so, but he might when he realizes that his "trustworthy" slayer has ascended to your chamber and not returned," Robin snapped. "A tad _suspicious_, do you not agree?"

She didn't seem to have an answer for him, instead blinking at him; clearly the thought hadn't dawned on her.

It was apparent to both of them, however, that Usher would skin the pair them alive were he to catch them.

Because what they had just done was very, _very_ wrong.

Which was another reason he panicked. He simply hadn't _thought_ – she had kissed him, and it had overtaken them, lasting barely ten minutes; the shedding of their clothes included. It had been animalistic, yet quiet.

She tired of being restricted by her role as a respectable young lady, laced tightly into corsets and bodices and laced tightly into _society_ too.

He madly, blindly, _wonderfully_ in love. She made him feel like… Well, she made him _feel_. No-one else had ever been able to spark such emotion in him before her. And he _loved_ those feelings – something wonderful that overrode his coldness, his sullenness, his _contempt_ for the ignorance of those around him.

And yes, it had barely lasted. She was more than any man (_or boy_) could stand for very long. They had lain for a few moments under her sheets, he on top of her as she wiped away the beads of sweat from his face.

As _he_ marveled at the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore, and marveled at what she had shown him, given him, and what he had given her, _taken_ from her—

And then, as though something had been switched back on in him, he had leapt off and hurriedly started to dress, while she watched him (_as Pallas had done_) with wide emerald eyes.

What had he done? _Destroyed_ her. Spoiled her innocence, tarnished her purity, tainted her virtue.

Ruined her chastity, and taken her virginity.

What man would marry her now, if he should come to know? Such a thing (sex before marriage) was so highly improper and impromptu…

How he had _devalued_ the poor girl.

"We both know that my speedy departure is the only thing that will spare you now," Robin continued coldly. "It is not myself I fear for, and believe me, I feel cowardly for not confessing to your father. But should he come to know, you will not be married off, and then what for you?"

"Perhaps I do not wish to be married," Starfire replied icily.

Robin forced a little laugh.

"Modern society does not leave you very many options, Starfire."

"I do not want to be married to a man who does not treat me as his equal, as I fear I shall be. I want to be _more_ than some gentleman's trophy, and I… I do not wish to be betrothed. I wish to choose my _own_ husband."

"Starfire…" He gazed at her sadly. "Such choices are not yours to make."

"They _should_ be!" Starfire cried, sitting up and holding the sheets to her chest. "Is it not _my_ life? And you may fear for me, and feel guilt for what you have done, but I do not. I am… _happy_. _You_ make me happy."

"And _you_…" He looked at her longingly, agonized. "I have never felt such happiness before as when I was in your arms but five minutes ago, but we both know that happiness does not come into this equation. In this modern day and age, Starfire, emotion rules little. Happiness comes second to the rules of society."

"Then I am different. I am a misfit in society." Starfire reached for his hand. "I have always been so – emotions are important to me. Joy and wonder rule me – it has always been my belief that one should follow their heart."

"Then you are a breed apart, Starfire."

"Alien?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps alien." He squeezed her hand tightly. "But the most _wonderful_ breed."

She smiled at him, then pulled him closer and took up either side of his shirt.

"Here, since you seem incapable of doing it yourself, sir…" She quickly and efficiently buttoned his shirt, leaving him to tuck it in as she grasped his cravat and expertly tied it about his throat.

"Thankyou." He squeezed her fingers again before slipping off the bed and retrieving his waistcoat and her nightdress. "Please, put this on," he said, handing it to her.

She obediently slipped it on over her head as he buttoned his waistcoat, adjusting his collar.

"You are satisfied?" She asked.

"Quite. I…" He stood at the foot of the bed, fully dressed. "I am sorry."

"Do not be, for _I_ am not." She looked up at him, giving a little giggle. "You cannot leave like this, however, sir. Your hair betrays you."

She beckoned to him, whereupon he obediently went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took up a comb from her bedside and started to tame it.

"My father has a great respect for you," she said softly.

"He would not if he knew—"

"Which he will _not_. But I…" She put the comb down and put her hands on his shoulders. "If you were to… that is, if you asked him, when all of this is over, for my hand… it is probable that he would… give it to you."

"If I…" Robin blinked at her. "Starfire, you speak of _marriage_?"

She nodded earnestly.

"Slaying the Raven Murderer will only serve to prove your worth to him. I am certain that he will agree to it, if only you ask him before any other suitors put forward a similar request."

"I…" He was horrified; not because he _didn't_ want such a thing (oh, _how_ he wanted it), but because…

…it was out of the question. He led a dangerous life, and he was _dying_. It was not fair on the girl to make her a widow so soon after her becoming a bride.

"And this will solve your worries," she added eagerly, taking his hands. "You worry than no gentleman will marry me because you have taken my purity, but such a thing would not matter if _you_ were my groom. And I know… you would not treat me as a trophy. So far, you have treated me only with kindness and respect. You too, sir, are of a rare breed."

"Starfire…" He took a deep breath, shaking again. "I regret that I… I cannot marry you."

She blinked.

"Why is this so? You are… already engaged?"

"No, it is nothing like that." He sighed deeply. "And it is not that I do not… I cannot marry you, Starfire. I simply cannot. Please understand."

"I do not." She shook her head, near tears. "I do not understand. Why can you not request my hand? You believe that we would be unhappy?"

"No! _No_, please…" He squeezed her hands tightly. "It is nothing to do with happiness, or class, or… Just trust me when I say I cannot. My world is not for you. It is too brutal, too harsh for one of your beauty."

"My beauty will leave me one day," Starfire said desperately. "No-one may stay young forever. And I know your world; I walk in your realm, slayer. My father has not allowed me ignorance of such things."

"I know that. I never once cited that you were ignorant. But it is not for you, Starfire. I could not forgive myself for pulling you down with me. You would have no life – I move from place to place, and generally my accommodation is not… I could not force you to live such a life, and your father would not want that for you either."

"You would not be forcing me. I would go with you, gladly." She put her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling against his neck. "It is no business of my father's. I love you."

"And how can you know such a thing? You met me only yesterday."

"I told you; I am governed by my emotions. I know that I… you are the one. I feel something unlike _anything_ I have ever felt before. I love you. I will go with you, wherever your quest may take you."

"No." He unwrapped her arms. "Starfire, I… I love you too, more than _anything_. I know this too. _I love you_."

He got up, backing away very slowly.

"But I cannot marry you. Please understand how it pains me to refuse you."

"But why _must_ you?" Starfire asked, whispering; a tear slipped down her face and by now it was too late for him to wipe it away.

"Because…" He reached the door, opening it slightly, and toying distractedly with his cross with his other hand. "…To allow you to become my bride would also allow you to become my _widow_."

He turned away before she could question him further.

"Goodnight, Lenore." He left without a backwards glance, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.

It took her a moment—

"You _are_ sick!" She cried after him. "You are _dying_…!"

She sprang from her bed and went to her door, wrenching it open (_here she opened wide the door_) to find the corridor empty.

The slayer was gone.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

* * *

Now please… it's Christmas. No flames.

I will only pop chestnuts on them.

This wasn't just thrown in here randomly as a bit of "action". In the Victorian times, something like this was… well, very _bad_.

And this _will_ affect the story.

As for Starfire – I tried to make her "alien" without her actually being an alien. She stills retains the traits of the Tamaraneans, although she is a human in this. There are also allusions to _Betrothed_ – you probably picked them out.

Do Robin and Starfire have a happy ending in this?

Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't decided yet.

Okay, okay, Christmas… On Thursday 22nd December, Narroch and I showcased a brand new fic we have started writing together, called _Red Rum_. There was one hell of an ad campaign surrounding it, mainly because it's the first fic we have co-written that we have put up on Narroch's account rather than mine. The first chapter is massively Christmas-themed, set on Christmas Eve, and is our "Christmas Special".

So far, it's done okay – four reviews, which isn't terrible, but we'd like more people to read it before Christmas. It will lose its impact afterwards, for obvious reasons. It's based on Agatha Christie's _Ten Little Indians_ and is _Teen Titans_ heavily crossed with _Batman: TAS_. Much of the narrative focuses on Detective Harvey Bullock of the GCPD (yup, that overweight guy always eating donuts…) as he attempts to track down and bring to justice a murderer picking off young superheroes across Gotham and Jump City. If you're enjoying _this_, you will probably like it – it's kinda in the same vein, only it's not Elseworlds. Primarily it's _Teen Titans_, focusing on them as the killer begins to pick them off and they struggle to figure out who it is and save themselves, but Bullock is officially on the case, as Batgirl was the first to be murdered, and so he's never far behind.

_Pleeeeeeeaaaaaasssssssssssse_ check it out if you get time and want something a little festive. The story does get much darker, but the first chapter has a little Xmas fluff in it. You can find it easily on Narroch's profile – she's on my Favourites List. We worked really hard on it and are hoping some more people pick it up.

Anyway, there's that; this; _Small Print_ (updated last Wednesday) and hopefully more _Remember the Titans_ tomorrow as my last update before Christmas. Don't say I don't treat you…

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

RobinRocks xXx


	11. The Journal of Richard Grayson: VI

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Monday 3rd November, 1845_

_Later_

_Further still I find myself still writing of the day's happenings; beyond the window, the sky darkens, beckoning the night, and soon I must venture out into this blackness to hunt the beast._

_The beast about which I claim to know a little more of since last night._

_Since the **wonder** of last night._

_And the **horror** of last night, too._

_For last night, I not only found out truths about myself – truths only unlocked while in Lenore's embrace._

_Lenore; Starfire. Who can never be mine._

_I have learned that now, once and for all. She cannot be mine, no matter her pleas, her assurances._

_She cannot be my bride. More than one instance has informed me so._

_Dreams of the unconscious; the **readings** of said unconscious too._

_At this moment, I am in a state of both enlightenment and sorrow._

_At nightfall, the war begins in the streets of Gotham. I will search this beast, this Raven Murderer. It will elude me no more; it will kill no others._

_My stake is my judgment._

_And so I rally myself for the hunt. For the chase, the game, the sport. _

_But I lament too. Tears of rage have wept from my eyes already today; upon the cab journey back from said enlightenment. My old teacher, a bearer of news both good and bad._

_What else could I have expected?_

_I did not venture out there expecting a storybook ending. This is not fiction, not a performance._

_Everything is so very real, and that is why it hurts._

_That is why it **hurts** so very much._

_But one thing I know, as I prepare to lay my pen aside and instead take into my hand my stake—_

_**Raven**._

_You will deceive me no more._


	12. The Masque of the Red Death

Here we are again, with chapter 6 of 8 of _Nevarmore _– and my last update of 2006.

Unfortunately since, once again, the site's alert system is down (and are we really _surprised_ at this point?), it could well be 2007 by the time you get the update alert for this. If this is the case, I hope you had an excellent New Year's celebration. Also, since I last left you on 23rd December with this fic, I am also hoping you all had a great Christmas and enjoyed love, togetherness, good food, music and TV, the religious side of the celebration and got lots of neat presents. :)

One of my best presents was a 4-disc _Batman: The Animated Series_ box set; and the irony of this is that in more than one of the episodes on the DVDs, a character who is mentioned in this chapter (as being an associate of Crane) shows up. Anyone who is familiar with either _On Leather Wings_ or _Tyger, Tyger_ should recognize this guy.

I also received another awesome present a few days after Christmas, but this is one present I can share with you all. Yes, and perhaps you saw it coming – I have another music video!

Well, it's not exactly a _music_ video – anyone who read my fic _Black Magic_ may remember seeing a video made by **Flying02Fish**, which was not a music video as such, but rather a **mock trailer**, made to look as though _Black Magic_ was a real movie. It was awesome, with lines of dialogue from the _Teen Titans_ show played over the footage, and it all gelled really well and made _Black Magic_ look a lot better than it really is… Well, Flying02Fish is back with a trailer for _Nevarmore_!

I briefly considered if a video for _Nevarmore_ could ever be made – and dismissed the idea of it. _Nevarmore_ is an Elseworlds fic, set in Victorian-era Gotham – the Titans dress out-of-character, talk out-of-character, and overall _are_ out-of-character. I just didn't think it could be done.

But Flying02Fish found a way around it, and the result is fantastic! The soundtrack of the trailer she made (totaling at one minute and thirty one seconds, so there's no excuse for you not to watch it…) is the US _Van Helsing_ cinema trailer (we got a different one over here, I recall) and she even lip-synced it! Now you get to hear Robin talking like Hugh Jackman and Starfire talking like Kate Beckinsale (in character as Anna, complete with Transylvanian accent…). Most amazing of all… and _don't_ ask me how she did it… She managed to do this effect where it looks like, very briefly, Robin is wearing a cross around his neck. It's really awesome… O.o

The clips are a mixture of the _Teen Titans_ TV show, _Teen Titans: Trouble in Tokyo_ and the anime series _Hellsing_. Robin's ultra-cool "Shinjuku" outfit from _Trouble in Tokyo_ represents his Victorian-esque "shirt/waistcoat/cravat" garb for the purpose of the video. For some reason both Red X and Professor Chang show up in there very briefly – not quite sure why that is, since they aren't in the fic, but even Commander Uehara Daizo shows up, which is kinda cool since he was referred to in the fourth chapter, _The Telltale Heart_.

**Please** check it out – there's a new link to it at the very top of my profile!

And here is an ironic little chain about it all: **_Nevarmore_** is a **_Teen Titans_** Elseworlds fic, "starring" **Robin** in a vampire slayer-type role, like **Van Helsing**; the _Nevarmore_ trailer is put to a _Van Helsing_ soundbite, in which Robin "takes" Van Helsing's role; Van Helsing himself was played by **Hugh Jackman**; Hugh Jackman was recently in **_The Prestige _**(awesome film, go see it!) with **Christian Bale**; Christian Bale's most famous role was in _Batman Begins_, as **Batman** himself; Batman is the mentor/partner of **Robin**, who is in _Teen Titans_…

Big circle, everyone's happy; and on with the show!

(Thankyous are down bottom today, since I talked too much up here…)

_Nevarmore – VI_

The Masque of the Red Death

It was something of a stupor that he found himself in as he wandered down the dark street, gripping his stake in one hand.

Not a _drunken_ stupor; no, the slayer was stone-cold sober.

More of a trance; and one induced by _her_.

_What had he done?_

He had just lived the most wonderful few moments of his short life, but at what price?

He had taken from the innocent Lenore exactly that; her _innocence_. Of what worth was she now?

But oh, _how_ she had made him feel – she had been so _hungry_ for him; so ravenous, animal, _alien_. She had pulled him to her, near tearing his clothes from him as he had dared to pull off her nightgown. The hunger of the frustrated virgin, wanting for so much, and when faced with _this_ – this, this… _boy_…

And truthfully, he had been as innocent as her in that respect.

He had never felt so wanted – he was used to moving from place to place, making brief acquaintances with tolerable people, before moving on. He knew he was not much of a party favor – he was in no way a horrible person, but he was so closed-up (and often scowling) that he seemed unapproachable. He gave off a rather gloomy vibe and therefore people simply put up with him, ignoring him and his ways for the most part.

Cyborg, an old-time friend, was an exception, and Beast Boy had been _forced_ to get to know him.

But Starfire…

…She truly _wanted_ him. She _loved_ him, even, despite knowing him for hardly any time at all.

The problem was that he loved her back; and _too_ much.

She wanted him to ask her father for her hand. For heaven's sake, she wanted to _marry_ him. She wanted to be his for all eternity; and for _every_ night to be shared just as this one had been, only for longer.

Legitimately. Without him having to leap up and dress in fear of being forever scorned by her father.

Oh, _how_ he wanted such a thing.

But he could not accept. He could not cause her such pain. Because he _loved_ her.

But…

He paused, taking a deep breath. He did not know how long he had left to live – maybe only a few months.

Maybe a few years.

Maybe he could—

His breath caught and he doubled up, coughing mercilessly as once again his lungs seemed to collapse on themselves, restricting any air to them and he began to taste that bitter, rancid, _rotten_ taste, mixed with the salty tang of blood—

Gripping the railings at the side of the pavement, he choked up another lungful of black bloody gunk onto the sidewalk.

As though to _punctuate_ the point that Lenore could never be his.

No. She could not be his. Nevermore.

He gritted his teeth against the tears as he pulled a handkerchief from his belt to wipe his mouth; it wasn't _fair_. He didn't _want_ to die. He wanted to _live_; he wanted to be _happy_. He wanted to become an adult – a _man_ – and he wanted to marry and he wanted—

He wanted so much of what he knew he could not ever have.

No. It could not be his. Nevermore.

Because if he _wasn't_ like this – if he wasn't cursed and _dying_… would he _even_ be living this life? Would he be chasing beasts and specters, vampires and unholy vermin?

Would he be seeking _revenge_; and comfort in that?

No. He would not. _Nevermore_.

He wiped the few tears away fiercely – oh, he had cried when he had learned. _How_ he had cried. But now, for the most part, he dealt with it the way he dealt with any and every dreadful fiend he dispatched to Hell.

Emotionlessly.

He could not marry Lenore; and so realized that he had to simply carry the guilt of tainting her, for it was beyond him to make an honest woman of her. She had discerned as much that he was ill, despite his denying of his sickness, and didn't seem to mind that he was obviously far from healthy – but if she knew the full extent (that he was _dying_), it was possible that… even _she_ would not want him. A young woman as passionate as Starfire demanded a husband who would fulfill her in every way, protect her and make her happy – and _he_, sickly as he was, could not offer her that.

Perhaps it would be best if he did not return to the House of Usher during the remainder of his stay in Gotham. He could stop in to see Usher at the morgue instead; and he only prayed she would not think it was cowardice that prevented his return. The truth was that he could not bear to torture himself – he did not want to look upon something that he might have, if only he were not cursed. She, who _wanted_ him… it would be torture to her too. Similarly, it was not within him to go browsing in expensive restaurants when he did not have the price of a meal in his pocket – life was Hell enough without self-torture.

And of course his _red death_ would not allow him a life that was anything _other_ than Hell.

He sat on a low wall, folding his handkerchief and putting it away; replacing it in his hand with his stake. It was, after all, hunting time…

As it happened, he did not have to hunt very hard at all – or even _begin_ to hunt. A sudden dark shadow swept right over him, as though that of a…

…_giant bird_…

He looked upwards sharply; and there, in the sky, soaring overhead, it was.

An unmistakable large black bird.

Springing to his feet, Robin broke into a run, following it on the ground. There was no was he was going to let it kill someone else, not when he had pretty much "caught it in the act"; so he pounded after it, through deserted streets, past noisy alehouses and lively gentleman's clubs, on and on and on, until a stitch tore at his side and he felt ready to collapse with exhaustion.

Where was it going? As the empty streets began to thin, giving way to private pasture, it began to register in his brain. He recognized this land, for he had been here twice already.

He stopped to get his breath, leaning against a tree and rubbing at his side.

And looked up in horror and dismay across the grounds of the house; at the magnificent Wayne Manor.

_Raven!_

Last night it had gone for Lenore before taking Jinx – _this_ night it meant to take Wayne's step-daughter.

_Unless he stopped it_.

With a renewed burst of breath and strength and determination, the slayer made short work of the front grounds as he watched the shadowy beast slip around the side of the house, still airborne. Following it still at a run, he pulled his grappling hook from his belt, ready to follow it wherever it might find her.

Scraping to a halt, he looked up – three floors up, the creature was disappearing through a slightly open window like a whisper. Looking wildly around, he saw a tree – if he timed it properly, he could probably jump from its branches into the room. He swung his grappling hook back a few times and released it, tangling it in the tree's branches; he quickly hauled himself up to the first few branches and from there (leaving his grappling hook) quickly worked his way up the tree.

Raven had not screamed yet.

Scrabbling up to the highest, flimsiest branches, Robin clung on with one hand while reaching across to push the window fully open with his other; and from there gathered some leverage before springing the gap. He caught the windowsill with his gut as well as his hands and slipped, winded; gritting his teeth, he hauled himself up again and tumbled into the room. Panting, he knelt up – he wasn't in the best of shape right now to be fighting a vampire, but…

He looked around.

Her room was dark. And empty.

There was no creature. And no _Raven_; nor any evidence of either of them. He had definitely seen the beast come in here, but then surely, were it hunting for her, it would have slammed the door open, splintered the wood?

The door was closed; and immaculate.

Perplexed, Robin pulled a red candle from a sheath in his boot and a book of matches from another; lighting the candle, he held it up to give himself some light as he slipped the matchbook away again.

He gave a little shudder as he looked around her room; and he had thought _Usher's office_ was creepy…?

But while the room may have been full of things that were, in a lot of ways, just as horrifying as some of the beasts he had fought – gaunt, blank-eyed masks, gothic pillars and even a few raven ornaments – it was utterly devoid of any trace of the Raven Murderer, as well as Raven herself.

It had definitely been this window, right?

But even if he had gotten the wrong window, he would only be in the room next door – he would hear screams and scufflings.

But the silence was unbroken.

He went to the door to inspect it – but yes, as he had suspected, there was not a scratch in it. He tried it.

It was locked. Locked from the inside.

_So where had the creature gone?_

He looked around for any adjoining doors leading to and from Raven's bedroom (he had conjectured this much), but he found nothing. So had it simply _vanished_?

No, vampires couldn't do such things – he knew that much.

Frowning in puzzlement – because this was the _second_ time today he had broken and entered somewhere and not found what he had been expecting to – he shone the candle around her room again. The light passed over her desk and he was drawn to it, noticing that there seemed to be a number of items on there.

Nothing of much interest. A few books – a collection of short stories by someone called Edgar Allan Poe; Robin couldn't say he had heard of him… A gas lamp, unlit, and a few candles. Incense. And—

He almost dropped his candle, his blood running cold.

There, on Raven Roth's desk, were Jonathan Crane's fear psychology journals.

**TT**

_Dressed in white – immaculate, virginal white – she waited for him. She waited for him with flaming red hair, emerald eyes, honeyed skin and a smile that outshone the fire of a thousand stars._

_The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore._

_She took his arm, turning her face away; but the veil obscured her anyway._

_He was not altogether surprised to find himself standing before the altar with her; he in a perfect, well-cut suit, crimson silk cravat and top hat, she in a beautiful pearl-sewn wedding gown. Here, it didn't surprise him at all._

_Cyborg offered him a serene smile, dressed in white and gold robes and holding a white leather-bound Bible open in front of him. Resting on its pages were two gold rings and, between them, a stake._

_It was an ugly contrast, but here, he did not question it._

_He questioned nothing, because **this** was what he wanted._

_**This** was what he could not have._

"_There is a problem," Cyborg said suddenly, running his gaze over the two of them._

"_And what might this be?" Robin barbed, irritated. "What in heaven's name could you possibly find wrong with this ceremony of matrimony, Cyborg?"_

_Cyborg nodded towards Starfire._

"_The girl. Your bride." His eyes narrowed. "She is not a virgin."_

_Starfire tightened her grip on Robin's arm, while the slayer rounded on Cyborg in her defense;_

"_And how can you know such a thing?" He snapped. "You insult my bride as she stands before you, about to be wed to me?"_

"_It is a thing which you should know."_

"_You cannot prove that it is true."_

"_Rather, my boy, I can." Cyborg nodded towards the girl and Robin turned to her. _

_She gave a little cry as she too looked down at herself and saw that her white dress was beginning to turn black, the colorless color creeping up from the bottom as though she was standing in a puddle of ink._

"_White is a virgin's color," Cyborg said rather smugly as the poor girl looked down at herself in horror. "And she is no virgin. But you knew this, did you not, sir?"_

"_Yes, I knew it!" Robin clutched her hand. "It is I who took it from her!" _

"_I thought as much…"_

"_Then why the procrastination? If you would please just wed us…"_

"_Very well… Take the rings, if you would."_

_Robin snatched the rings off the Bible and slipped the smaller gold band onto Starfire's finger; the whole of her skirt was black, and her bodice was beginning to become flecked with it now too._

"_I am so tainted," she whispered._

_Robin shook his head._

"_It matters not, sweet Lenore." He handed her his own ring to put on his finger. "What matters is that I love you. I love you more than anything…"_

_She smiled and put the ring on for him, whereupon he turned away from her again, adjusting his top hat a little as he turned his icy gaze back on Cyborg._

"_Well?"_

"_Then it is done," Cyborg murmured in reply. "I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, slayer."_

_Robin gave a sharp little nod and turned to Starfire again. Her entire dress had turned to black, as had her veil. He could see nothing of her face now, and it appeared that she could no longer see him, but he took her hand as she blindly reached for him. He took hold of her veil and flipped it upwards, back over her hair—_

_And reeled back in horror, gasping. _

_Not Lenore. Not Starfire._

**_Raven._**

_She smiled lazily at him, grasping him by the throat._

"_What troubles you, sir?" She purred. "Do you not wish to kiss your bride?"_

"_You…" he gasped out, clawing at her abnormally-strong hand. "You are not…"_

_Her violet eyes danced._

"_Your sweet Lenore?" She crooned. "Yes, I dealt with her, I am afraid. What will you do, slayer?"_

_Flipping his legs up, Robin kicked her in the chest, twisting away from her as she toppled, crashing up against the front pews. Swinging around, the slayer grasped the stake from the Bible Cyborg held, flipping it over expertly in his hand._

_Raven sat up, ripping the veil off and simply smiling at him._

"_You will kill me? Is this any way to treat a young woman?"_

"_It is what I do."_

"_Ah, yes, this I know…"_

_Taking the brim of his top hat, Robin whipped it off his head, flipping it high into the air. The distraction worked, for she looked up at it; and he dived in towards her, grasping her hair and positioning the tip of the stake centimeters from her heart._

_The hat hit the floor next to Cyborg, who hadn't moved at all since Robin had snatched the stake._

"_Where is Starfire?" Robin hissed angrily._

"_Lost to you for evermore," Raven replied softly. "You know this. You know you may not have her."_

"_Stop playing with me!" Robin snapped. _

"_Alas, deception is my nature." Raven looked at him boredly, horrendous in Lenore's black wedding gown. "Kill me if it pleases you. You will not get what you want."_

"_We shall see," was Robin's only reply._

_He punched the stake downwards, piercing her heart. She did not cry out, only fell limp and collapsed on the church floor._

_Robin sat back with a gasp; looking up as he felt Cyborg's shadow fall across him._

"_Murder brings you pleasure?" The priest asked, handing him his hat._

"_No."_

_Cyborg shook his head sadly._

"_Then, my boy, what have you done?"_

"_How do you mean?"_

"_Look, Robin. Look and see."_

_Robin slipped his hat back on as he leaned over Raven's body…_

_Not Raven. Lenore._

_**Starfire**._

"_But I…" The slayer looked wildly from Starfire to Cyborg and then back again. "She was… Lenore was not…"_

"_Did you get what you wanted?" The priest asked icily._

_Robin frantically pulled the stake from her chest, shaking her._

"_Lenore!" He begged. "Starfire…"_

_She did not move. Lost to him for evermore._

_Sick with horror, Robin turned wildly to the priest, reaching desperately for him._

"_Cyborg… please… Victor, h-help me… please…"_

_But Cyborg stepped back from him, clutching his Bible._

"_Alas, my boy, even I cannot help you now. Not even **God** can help you…"_

"_Cyborg…!" Another coughing fit started to take him; **real**, far more real than anything else here, and yet not as horrifying as what had just happened…_

"_H-help me, please…" He couldn't even plead for the coughing, and as Cyborg faded away from him, he was left curled up on the floor of the church, unable to breathe—_

…

"Robin!"

Something roughly shook him awake; and Robin sat up, still coughing horrendously, grasping at his chest.

Cyborg thumped him on the back frantically; until eventually it all loosened up again. Retching, the slayer tore away from the priest and leaned over the side of the mattress, choking up blood and that tar-like substance.

He sat up again, white in the face, his chin stained red and black; and collapsed back on his mattress, on his back, gasping for breath.

"What in God's name…?" Cyborg stared at him; in a thick dark blue nightgown, the priest looked disheveled himself, as though woken from his own slumber. "Is there something perhaps you might like to _explain_ to me, young sir?"

Robin panted, still with his eyes closed.

"It is nothing…"

"It is most certainly not _nothing_!" Cyborg snapped. "What do you call this? I was awoken mere moments ago by the sound of your coughing – truly, sir, I thought you were _dying_. When I came in here to check on you, you were near blue in the face."

"Mmm." Robin massaged his throat. "Breathing is difficult during the fits, I will admit…"

"What "fits" exactly, Richard?"

"Bouts of coughing…" The slayer gave another few tiny coughs into his hand, but no more blood and the like accompanied them.

"You are sick?"

"Something of the sort," Robin admitted.

"What ailment have you?" Cyborg asked warily, eying the substance he had just spat up. "Tuberculosis?"

"Nothing contagious. Do not worry yourself on that front."

"We must get you a doctor."

"A doctor cannot help me." Robin rubbed at his hair. "I thank you for your kind concern, sir, but I am quite alright now. Please, if I might have a drink…?"

Cyborg eyed him warily still. Heaven knew he could not throw him out into the street, not now – but still, he did not want…

He was clearly very ill, and despite his assurance that his ailment was not contagious, it looked remarkably like tuberculosis to Cyborg.

"I will take my leave tomorrow," Robin cut into his thoughts. "I feel that I have burdened you long enough, and I can see that my… _sickness_ worries you. I do not blame you. Your own health is of utmost importance…"

"No, no, sir!"

Cyborg grasped his shoulders – no, he could not turn him away. Not him, not Robin, not his friend…

"You read my expression wrong. I am concerned for you, and could not send you away."

"You do not need to deal with this…" Robin gestured at the gunk he had thrown up. "I do not want you—"

"Leave it for now." Cyborg offered him a hand. "Come, let us descend the stairs to the kitchen. I think a hot drink is in order. Perhaps something to eat – you have not eaten properly since you arrived here."

"Cyborg, I—"

Cyborg was already gone, gesturing for him to wait there. Robin wearily dragged himself out of bed and shivered in his unbuttoned shirt and underwear.

The priest returned shortly, a dressing robe over his own nightgown, and carrying a second for the slayer.

"Here, or you will catch cold." He handed it to the younger boy, who eagerly pulled it on – it was far too big for him, but thick and warm.

"Thankyou."

"You are very welcome. Now come."

Cyborg beckoned to him and Robin followed him downstairs; and questioning himself why a man of such kindness and understanding had appeared as such a snide devil's advocate in…

…_that dream_…

The slayer sat at the kitchen table as Cyborg stoked the fire, bringing heat to the room; and watched him further as he made some tea and brought it to the table.

"Now, young sir," the priest mused, pushing a cup across to the younger boy, "would you care to tell me what it is that troubles you?"

"How do you mean, exactly, Cyborg?" Robin asked complacently, bringing his cup to his mouth.

"You have not been right since you arrived back late this evening." Cyborg eyed him steadily. "This you cannot deny. You went out tonight bold of heart and returned not more than an hour or two later pale in the face and shaking. When I questioned you, you did not give me a satisfactory answer and retreated upstairs to write in your journal and retire. You have not eaten, you have not—"

"I know, I _know_." Robin sighed. "I am sorry to concern you. Perhaps it _would_ be in both our best interests if I were to take my business elsewhere."

"Nonsense!" Cyborg snapped. "I would feel only _more_ concern for you then. What happened this evening? What is it that has shaken you up so?"

"My sickness has nothing to do with—"

"I know. That I shall come to in a moment."

Robin stared at the kitchen table for a very long time.

"Cyborg, I simply… simply do not know… what to _do_ anymore…"

"The beast still roams, I presume?"

"Yes, but I…" Robin buried his face in his hands. "I think… I may have _found_ it, but…"

"Then _why_ have you not slain it?" Cyborg asked. "Richard, there is an entire _city_ out there living in terror, and you—"

"It is not that simple!" Robin burst out angrily. "I do not even know that it _is_ her!"

Cyborg frowned.

"…_Her_?"

"Yes." Robin's voice was very quiet. "If it _is_… and I… have never seen _anything_ like…"

"Just _what_ do you speak of, sir?"

Robin finally looked up.

"The irony of this situation, sir," he said slowly, "is that our "Raven Murderer" may be the most screamingly obvious person after all…"

Cyborg appeared puzzled.

"I am afraid that your logic escapes me."

With another sigh, Robin got up from the table and went towards the stairs.

"Where do you think you are going?" Cyborg demanded.

"I shall return momentarily." Robin waved the demand aside and began to ascend the staircase.

"See that you do…"

The priest tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, awaiting the slayer's return. When he _did_ put in his reappearance, Cyborg saw that his arms were laden with books.

"I fail to see how this points to the Raven Murderer, Richard," he said as the slayer ditched the two leather-bound volumes on the table.

Wordlessly, Robin sat down again and pushed the books across at the priest.

Picking one up, Cyborg flicked through it.

"I recall you saying that you didn't take Crane's journals from his office," he said, perplexed.

"I did not take those from his office."

"Then where…?"

"_Those_ are the stolen books, Cyborg."

Cyborg blinked.

"But then, where did you…?" He looked up, distraught. "_Who had them_?"

Robin was silent for a very long time.

"_Raven_," he whispered finally. "Raven Roth. Bruce Wayne's stepdaughter."

Aghast, the priest blinked at him still.

"What…? But you…" He looked down at the books. "She had…? But surely that does not mean that she—"

"This is _precisely_ my problem!" Robin interrupted irritably. "She had those books on her desk – those books are our clue, our _pointer_, if you will, to the Raven Murderer. And she… all this means to me is that she either _is_ the Raven Murderer, or she is working _with_ or _for_ the Raven Murderer. She cannot be so innocent as to have simply borrowed those books from the library when the place was torn apart, presumably in search of them."

"It had not crossed your mind that she maybe took the books to prevent the actual Raven Murder from getting his fiendish hands on them?" Cyborg asked, placing them neatly on top of one another.

"A brief scenario," Robin agreed scathingly. "The only conclusion that brings me to is that if she took them to prevent the real Raven Murderer from getting them, she knew the creature was there, or rather, knew he would be coming, in which case she has been _lying_ to me. Any which direction you may turn, Cyborg, she is guilty in one way or another, whether she _is_ the killer, is working _with_ the killer, or is following the killer herself. The trouble is that I do not know _which_ of these accusations I may pin upon her…"

"Then you cannot simply attack her with your stake," Cyborg pointed out worriedly.

"I _know_!" Robin snapped in exasperation. "Do you see? Do you _see_ my problem?"

He got up, pacing restlessly and unsettlingly once again.

"What must I do? I think that she is the killer – that is my personal belief – but I cannot slay her, as I have no cement proof, and if she is not, then I will have committed the murder of an innocent person. But if she _is_ the murderer, then my uncertainty of this fact is allowing her to get away with her monstrous tirade while I dither."

"What makes you so certain that she _is_ the creature?"

"There is…" The slayer gave a little shiver. "There is something _about_ her. A little something that unnerves me. _Me_, Cyborg – and I am a _slayer_. I deal with these things day in and day out. But it is something I cannot place – if she _is_ a vampire, she is not of a normal breed. I have seen her, standing there in pure daylight, and yet…"

"Vampires typically have not this ability," Cyborg finished wearily. "This is very confusing position in which we find ourselves, Richard."

"This I know, believe me…"

Robin sank back into his seat again, putting his head in his hands.

"I have read a little of the books," he went on. "Of Crane's journals."

"Your deduction?"

"The man was utterly _insane_." Robin snapped his fingers irritably in the direction of the books. "He speaks of his theories of fear, and that humankind should respect the very notion of it, for it can rule society. In a lot of ways, he may be right – the creatures I fight against use fear as a weapon, certainly. But the manner in which he writes… it is frightening, Cyborg. He was fascinated by it, that much is certain."

"Any pointers towards our Raven Murderer case? Why the girl – if it _is_ her – should wish to steal them?"

"Yes. A few pages on symbols of fear make up the first chapter of the second volume."

Robin reached for the required book and flipped through it to find the pages he was looking for – four pages of spidery scrawl, accompanied by a few inked illustrations.

"Here. He speaks of the designs of the fear of men. Symbols which we have been _taught_ to be afraid of, symbols associated with death, sadness, witchcraft, occult…"

He pointed to Crane's illustrations; a pentagram, a crucifix turned upside down, a bat, a raven, a full moon, a noose, a black cat, and something which might have been the Reaper.

Cyborg reached across for it to examine it more closely, and Robin handed it to him.

"He speaks briefly also of a man named Dr Kirk Langstrom," the slayer went on. "I assume he worked with him for a time, for research purposes, but there is no further information on the man in either journal. There is possibly yet another set of notes, of which we have no knowledge."

"The killer…?"

"I do not know. I do not know if our killer knows of these other notes – if indeed there _are_ any."

"And what makes you think there _might_ be?"

"He speaks of Langstrom and their "research", but such research is not recorded within that journal. He wrote also of Langstrom's "genius", so it has occurred to me that perhaps these further notes are Langstrom's own."

"Then you will seek this Dr Langstrom?"

Robin shook his head.

"I have not the time now, Cyborg – I cannot be chasing irrelevant leads. Whoever Dr Langstrom is – or _was_, depending – he is of little importance to the current case. I can waste no more time."

"And what of your sickness?" Cyborg asked tentatively.

Robin looked up again.

"It is nothing," he replied tersely. "Nothing but a mere infection."

"I do not—"

"Cyborg, please." Robin's mouth became a tight little line. "I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, and please do not think me ungrateful, but my business is my own; I would greatly appreciate it if you would let the subject lie."

Cyborg opened his mouth, then closed it again after a few moments.

"Very well, I will not pry," he said finally. "But I do not desire to see you sick. If I can help you, please…"

"There is…" Robin exhaled deeply and heavily and sadly. "There is _nothing_ you can do. But thankyou."

He smiled at the priest – the first genuine smile that someone _other_ than Lenore had managed to draw out of him.

"Then if you will not answer me _that_," Cyborg replied softly, "at least answer me _this_."

"And what might "this" be?"

"Why were you even _in_ Miss Roth's chamber?"

Robin shifted uncomfortably – not because he was guilty in relation to _Raven_, but in relation to…

"I had just come from the House of Usher after…" He faltered, clearing his throat; hoping a blush was not creeping up his pale face. "…After consulting with Dr Usher himself about the nature of the murder of poor Jinx only last night. It was as I left the premises and started the walk back into the city that I saw, in the sky, flying as though truly the bird from which it takes its name, this great hideous creature, as black as any night I have ever seen – for it seemed to cut a yet _darker_ hole in the sky itself. I recognized it as the creature which had attacked Lenore only the night previous to this."

"I presume you gave chase?"

"Such a presumption would be correct."

"And what of it?"

"I followed the foul beast right throughout the town and beyond, and yes, I will admit that by this point I was greatly exhausted, but since the creature showed no sign of stopping, so then neither could I yield. Upon arriving at the grounds of Wayne Manor, it was my conjecture that the beast had set its murderous sights on Wayne's stepdaughter."

"And had it?"

"This is where I remain unsure." Robin laced his fingers together absently. "I saw the creature flying upwards, towards the window of Raven's very chamber. I followed it, using a tree to give myself height, but upon my entrance of her room, I found…"

"You found…?"

"Darkness." Robin frowned deeply. "Darkness there, and nothing more."

"You found… _nothing_?"

Robin nodded solemnly.

"That is correct. Her room was empty and, more to the point, untouched. There was no sign of any entrance by anything – any bird or beast at all. I do not see how the beast could have left unless it was little more than a spectral being."

"But vampires are not—"

"I know. This is why I cannot figure out _just what it is that I am up against_!" Robin snapped in frustration.

"And the girl herself?"

"Nowhere in the vicinity. I was about to leave when I found upon her desk…"

Robin gestured at the books on the table angrily.

"You think that it is her, then?"

"If she is not the murderer, then she at _least_ has something to do with this," Robin griped. "She is not ignorant, and yet pretends to be, mocking me as she does so. It makes sense now, if the murderer is her."

"And how do you surmise this?"

"The Raven Murderer deliberately destroyed the Wayne Manor News Archive because it – or _she_ – knew that I was gathering information upon the murders. I met Raven only that morning _in_ the archive, and as good as _admitted_ my occupation to her, since we talked of it. Lord, Cyborg, I even told her what I was _doing –_ gathering information upon the killings. It is suspicious then, do you not think, that first of all the library is dismantled, and the books stolen, only to be found upon her desk?"

"I admit that it seems to be a very solid case against her," Cyborg replied quietly. "But a young lady like her…"

"If she _is_ a vampire, Cyborg, she is _far_ from a young lady… They are notorious for being beautiful on the outside, hiding their foul hearts. To deceive is their nature."

"But you can do nothing unless you can actually prove—"

"This I know. However, she is… Cyborg, she has outsmarted me _already_, it would seem. She is, ironically, hiding in plain sight – a girl with the name of the murders, and dismissed as a suspect because it seems to be too much of a coincidence. She is a devious one; a devious one indeed."

"Then what will you _do_? How far must the death toll rise? A young lady killing other young ladies? This madness and horror must end, and you know it; so tell me, Richard. _What will you do_?"

"The only thing I can."

Robin stood up as Cyborg blinked at him.

"And what might that be?"

"On the morrow, I shall leave Gotham by cab and travel to a small place outside of Metropolis."

Cyborg blinked.

"What? _Why_?"

The slayer took his cup to the sink, sighing at his disheveled reflection in the cracked porcelain.

"To get _help_, of course."

"You…? Why must you leave the…? And who…?" Cyborg couldn't get the words out.

Robin looked over his shoulder at him, rinsing out his teacup.

"One thing I have learned, Cyborg; when there is trouble, you should know who to call…"

**TT**

Incidentally, the slayer _did_ know whom to call upon in his hour of (_slayage_) need.

In a tiny remote village a few miles east of Metropolis – out deep in the woodlands – there lived a wise woman; a reader of the Tarot, a scryrer of the Great Arts.

The slayer did not _like_ her particularly, for she was not the friendliest of people, and scathing towards him at the best of times. But the point was that he knew her well, and she him.

For she was his trainer; in martial arts, and in the skill and knowledge of the slayer.

He knew not her name, simply referring to her, as everyone did, by the title "The True Master".

What he _did_ know was that she was not going to be pleased to see him. Not when he needed to ask for something so…

The cab drew to a halt as the path began to get narrower and more dangerous; he knew it was suicidal to force a horse and cab down through woodland. Picking up his bag, he hopped down from the cab as the driver held the door open for him.

"You are quite sure this is where you want to be?" The man asked, eyeing the dark woods warily. "A young man like you?"

Robin nodded, handing over his fare.

"Yes, sir. I thank you."

The driver shrugged and nodded.

"Good morning to you, sir."

"Good morning," Robin replied mildly as the cab turned and made its way back up the path; he was quite sure the driver had not heard him.

With a sigh, slipping a stake discreetly into one hand, he started down the path as it grew darker and narrower.

It was a very long walk.

By the time he reached the village – minute, rural, almost _backward_ compared to the modern cities that he traveled to and fro from – he suspected it was almost noon.

He ignored – as usual – the glances and the whispers that accompanied his arrival at the village and short walk through it to the furthermost house.

This house… It was not Wayne Manor. It was not the House of Usher. It was not even Cyborg's humble parish house.

It was little more than a shack, constructed from crumbling stone, with a leaking roof and only one window. It always saddened him to see it, simply for what it was – and for what it _wasn't_. It saddened him that an old lady had to live such a hovel existence; but on the other hand, she certainly didn't seem to mind, almost _daring_ anyone to pity her.

He paused for a second or two outside the door, taking a deep breath; then knocked.

Almost immediately the door swung open and a walking stick was thrust outwards, spooking him into a rapid retreat of a few steps.

"It is me," he said desperately, hoping she would not (as she had done before) slam the door in his face.

"Hm." The old lady – the True Master – stepped out, eying him beadily. "Yes, it would appear so."

She lowered her stick.

"And what might you want, boy?"

"I… I have need of—"

"Come!" She said sharply, interrupting him. She turned away and went back into the house, beckoning to him. "It is cold."

He followed her, ducking aside as she shut the door with her stick.

"I am sorry to—" Robin started again.

"I should say so."

The old woman waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up; instead lighting up several candles in addition to those that were already lit. Incense burned; filling the whole tiny house with the heavy Oriental scents of jasmine and lotus. It was pleasant, but overpowering, and the slayer found himself rather light-headed as he watched her go to her small table in the middle of the one downstairs room. It was dark and cluttered, scrolls and various weapons and artifacts – mostly of an Oriental origin – piled on every surface and on the floor.

"I—"

"Silence." The True Master pushed out a chair opposite hers at the tiny table. "Just sit. We will proceed momentarily."

"But how…?" Robin trailed off, obeying as he saw her reach down to the floor and lift up her Tarot cards.

"This is what you want, am I right?" The old woman asked as the slayer sat down, slipping off his coat.

"I…"

"This is what you _want_? This is why you came here?"

"Yes." Robin nodded. "I am…"

"I have told you." The True Master began to shuffle the cards, her anger evident by the rough way in which she treated them. "I have told you and _told_ you, boy. I am not some _wild card_ you may play when you run out of options!"

"I know. I am sorry. But I—"

"You are extremely arrogant to think that you may turn up on my doorstep and be given an answer. I _told_ you, Richard; I told you when you left that you were to be on your own. I _told_ you that you could not keep coming back here."

"Please," Robin said softly. "I am sorry. I am sorry to ask for this. But I… I cannot stop this creature. I do not know which way to turn. I need…"

"You need _this_." The True Master fanned out the cards scathingly, then pushed them back together and handed them to him. "Cut them, focus on the question which you would like to be answered here for you today…"

He obeyed, flinching when she snatched them back.

"This is _cheating_, Richard."

"But it is not a game." Robin looked at her tiredly. "This is not a game. This is a matter of life and death."

"Hm." She turned the cards over and began to sift through them with her eyes closed, drawing out five and laying them face down on the table, in a loose horseshoe pattern – this was always the spread she seemed to use when dealing with _him_. "I will not do this for you again, do you understand?"

"But I—"

"_Do you understand_?"

Robin nodded.

"Yes," he said softly, looking down at his lap. "I understand."

"Good." She opened her eyes again, laying the spare cards aside. "And I knew that this was why you had come. I do not know what you expect to see, but I knew that this was why you had come."

"I need… I need answers." The slayer clenched his fists. "I need to stop the Raven Murderer, but I can't… I need help. I need _your_ help."

"You shall have everything you need." She looked up at him briefly. "You shall have your answers. I cannot, however, promise that you will like them…"

Robin smiled sourly.

"I do not expect to."

"Good, then we shall have no disappointment." She ran a hand over the cards each in turn. "You are aware of the nature of this spread?"

"The Horseshoe Spread. This is the one which you—"

"Tend to save for _you_, yes." She looked at him intently. "There is no denying you are a difficult one…"

She pointed to the card in the first position.

"Here we have the _Present Position_, which shows us the nature of the dilemma in which you find yourself."

Robin nodded, but she did not look at him.

"In the second place we have your _Present Desires_, which gives us insight into what you wish for deep inside at this moment. The third position, we have _The Unexpected_, which should tell us something about the solution of your problem, and it is only natural that it will come as unexpected to you. You are following this?"

"Yes, yes." Robin nodded vigorously. "Of course."

"Good." Her hand came to the fourth card. "Here we have _The Outcome_ of this situation. It can provide no definite answers, but may help to steer you in the right direction."

Robin nodded again, biting his lip.

"Lastly, we have _The Immediate Future_, which may provide you with an incentive about where you must turn next." She looked up at him finally. "This satisfies you, this spread? You are confident that these categories address your question?"

Robin nodded a third time.

"Yes."

"Excellent. Then we may proceed." The True Master slowly, one by one, turned over each of the cards; then sat back for a moment or two, rocking in her chair, staring intently at them.

They did, of course, make no sense to the slayer.

"Hmm…" She was frowning deeply, her face creasing up like the brown paper packaging on medicinal items. "This is a fairly solid spread…"

Robin was slightly hopeful.

"It is… _good_?" He dared to ask.

"Not altogether," she replied heartlessly. "But it is clear. Very clear."

She gestured to the first card.

"In the _Present Position_, we have a Major Arcana card; _The Moon_."

"And what does—?"

"Silence!" The True Master snapped. "I will tell you all you desire, if only you will allow me to speak."

Robin dipped his head in apology, gazing intently at the table's surface.

"_The Moon_ represents confusion, vulnerability and illusion," she went on ominously. "When this cards appears in a spread, it implies that the Questioner is feeling hopelessness, even despair, at a situation of which they cannot make sense. This applies to you?"

Robin nodded meekly.

"Yes, this Raven Murder business, I cannot even—"

"Illusion, slayer. _Illusion_." She gazed intently at him. "It represents deception. You are being deceived."

Robin blinked and looked at the spread; something he had assumed himself, but now the _cards_…?

_Raven_…

"At the second position, that of your _Present Desires_, we have a Minor Arcana card." The old woman pushed it towards him. "This is, on the contrary, a rather cheerful representation – the _Nine of Cups_. It is often known as the "Wish Card"."

Robin picked it up, gazing at it; at the nine golden goblets, overflowing with abundant wine to represent love and joy.

It seemed odd for it to have been drawn in his spread.

"Why…?"

She took the card back from him.

"_This_… represents love, dreams, happiness, prosperity, sexual desire and friendship." She put it back in its place rather roughly. "It most often appears in a spread when a new friendship or, indeed, _sexual_ relationship is established. Sometimes it even represents _marriage_."

"I… ah… I…" Robin looked up at her briefly, then quickly looked away again, flushing pink.

It cut no ice with her.

"I think, being an unattached young gentleman, you want to be rather less careless, Richard Grayson," was all she said on the matter, her voice hard.

Her hand moved on to the third card.

"Here, at the third position, that of _The Unexpected_, we have drawn yet another Major Arcana card." She looked up at him. "You must understand, I find this particular reading intriguing. The ratios of Major Arcana cards to Minor Arcana cards is… _unnatural_, at best."

"How so?"

"A deck of Tarot cards is consisted of 78 cards; 22 Major Arcana and 56 Minor Arcana. The Major Arcana is consisted of 22 archetypal figures – _The Fool_, _The Emperor_, _The Hermit_, to name but a few examples. The Minor Arcana is comprised of four suites, rather like playing cards, consisting of fourteen cards each; numbered Ace to Ten, with four "court" cards, the King, Queen, Knight and Page. These four suites are the _Cups_, _Wands_, _Swords_ and _Pentacles_. And…"

The True Master studied her pupil thoughtfully.

"…By regular ratio, Major Arcana cards are less common that those of the Minor Arcana, for obvious mathematical reasons. In a spread such as this…" She indicated the Horseshoe Spread on the tabletop. "…It is not uncommon to encounter no cards of the Major Arcana at all, but to be presented with _two_…"

Still her gaze did not shift from him, and he began to grow uncomfortable.

"Yes, you _are_ a difficult one, aren't you?…" She murmured. "But to return to the matter at hand…" Her fingers found the third card once more. "At the position of _The Unexpected_, we have here _The High Priestess_. She represents intuition, which you must be guided by if you are to succeed. You must not be blinded by deception, and have the wisdom to follow your instincts. She is, by an ironic twist of fate, connected with _The Moon_, the other Major Arcana card which you have drawn; she shows that all will be revealed from behind the veil, but you must search. The scroll she carries in her hands symbolizes the hidden truths which you must seek."

Robin nodded.

So basically, Raven was deceiving him, and he was certain of it now.

He had no reason to hold back against her.

"At the fourth position," the True Master rattled on, "we have drawn the _Seven of Wands_ to represent what must be done in _The Outcome_. This Minor Arcana card represents courage, determination and a challenge to fight for your beliefs and values. It may mean _destruction_, particularly in your case, given your profession. This victory will not be easy, but it is yours to possess, if only you care to pursue it."

"I _do_ care to pursue it." Robin stood up, pulling on his coat.

Everything seemed much clearer to him now.

Raven _was_ his target; and he was going to _win_. She would dance no more rings around him—

"Where do you think you are going?" The True Master asked sharply as the slayer started to walk away from the table.

"I apologize," Robin replied, stopping and turning to her. "I know it is rude of me to simply leave so hurriedly, but I must return to Gotham immedi—"

"We have not finished the reading."

"We… have not?"

"There is one card remaining. _The Immediate Future_."

"Well…" The slayer turned away again. "Such a thing is of little importance to me at this moment. I must pursue this beast and vanquish it. I will not be defeated or eluded by it again. _I will win_."

"You are very arrogant to believe you may dismiss fate in the face of the present," the True Master warned him as he reached for the door handle. "Very arrogant indeed, especially when this final card… does not bode entirely well."

Robin paused. Looked over his shoulder at her, at which she held it up for him to see.

A bleeding heart against a black stormy backdrop, pierced by three swords.

"The _Three of Swords_," the True Master went on in a hushed voice. "Disappointment. Pain."

And the final word broke his heart;

"_Sickness_."

* * *

I know, what a mix it is all becoming…

Raven. Langstrom. The True Master.

O.o

As _for_ the True Master… The first thing to note is that I don't like her. At all. You could maybe tell by the narrative style – I thought she was a _man_ nearly all the way through that episode, to start with. It wasn't until Robin actually mentioned it while muttering to himself about something or other that I realized she… was, well, a _she_.

Secondly, I _do_ actually know that her real name is Chu Hui (according to the TitansGo! transcript for _The Quest_, anyway – there is no actual spoken evidence of it), but I called her the True Master all the way through to make her seem more mysterious and powerful and also because (back to point one) I don't like her.

The third thing to note about her is that originally I wasn't going to use her as Robin's "fortune-telling helper"; I was going to use Mother Mae-Eye. But it developed that this helper was also Robin's teacher and so Mother Mae-Eye obviously wasn't the one for the job; enter the True Master (begrudgingly).

Fourth – I doubt she reads Tarot. Frankly, I don't care. I'm just glad she was only in one episode. I couldn't really tell you _why_ I don't like her – she just annoys me.

The Tarot stuff… all true. I bought a book to do some research on it – _The Tarot Directory_ – and it explained all the cards, their meanings, the Major and Minor Arcanas, the different spreads… I obviously decided which cards I wanted to appear in that spread to make it fit the story, but those are all real cards and their meanings and stuff. I don't think I'm going to take it up, though… O.o

And now, to thank you all (I'm sorry, my ANs are SO long today…);

**Rochelleteentitan **(glad you liked it! And no, this fic doesn't exactly scream "happy ever after", does it?); **Poison's Ivy **(again with the bunnies! Aw, it _is_ cute, though… _The Telltale Heart_ is a good one; _The Pit and the Pendulum_ is good too, you should check that one out. And no, I wasn't calling you a psycho… Actually, as far as "cyborg" being a real word goes, Microsoft Word doesn't recognize it as such. I had to add it to my dictionary. And yeah, eh heh, as before… sorry, I confused myself. Raven wasn't in the last chapter. I don't know why I said she was. As for RobinxStarfire… deal with it. I know you like Raven and I know you like RobinxRaven but it's just not happening here… Yes, I figured out that Raven was your favourite character… She _is_ in this story, will you please just be patient? And now she has a much bigger role, so you can't complain. As for backwards spellings on both this and _Red Rum_… The latter is from _The Shining_ – _Nevarmore_ is just close to the original word ("nevermore") and only required the changing of one letter. It is still pronounced the same way, in effect…); **Torral11 **(really glad you're enjoying it. You might be on the right track somewhere there… But wait wait wait! Beast Boy and Raven? They aren't going to be together at all. They haven't actually met in person, and Beats Boy is in mourning for Terra. No BBxRaven here, I'm afraid…); **Me **(what do I want to know about you? Your _pen-name_, to start with! And yeah, _Red Rum_ is a RobinxStarfire story. It doesn't dominate the story, though. Moreover it's about the Titans getting it in the neck…); **Li-kun05 **(glad you're liking it too! And it's nice that you pointed out a specific part that you liked, too. Even if it was just the part about Robin making jigsaws from his food… Are you pro-RobinxStarfire or pro-RobinxRaven?); **Quinn and His Quill **(as scathing as ever. O.o Robin's a slut, he didn't invent grappling hooks, social psychology didn't come along until after… It's just a fan-fic, dude! And besides, how am _I_ meant to know about Social Psychology? I didn't go to any of my lessons…); **Saphires Rage **(is the above a big enough role for Raven for you?… :P); and **Crazy Insomniac **(um, well… indulging in festivities… heh, nicely put… _Sooooooooooooo_… does the above fare well with you and your theories?).

So, yeah… super long scary author notes to round off 2006.

I thought I'd round off the old year with _Nevarmore_; and begin the new one with _Remember the Titans_. You can catch that on 1st January 2007; or past that, depending on the email alerts…

_Sigh_, where **has** the year gone?

Check out the video, _PLEEEEEAAAASSSEEEE_!

Happy New Year! See you again in '07!

RobinRocks xXx


	13. The Pit and the Pendulum

Wow, um… I can't remember when I last updated this, but it was a pretty long time ago, soooo…

Oh yeah, first off… No, there is not a journal entry missing. The reason there was not one posted before this chapter is because realistically Robin wouldn't have had time to write one – and also because this is the cataclysmic chapter and I ain't giving anything away, har-de-har.

Thankyou to;

**Nadiagirl **(is Raven the villain? You'll have to wait and see…); **JenniGirl1 **(well, I hope God told you to come back and read the rest of this, since I think you will like the ending, regardless of the RobinxStarfire content); **Rochelleteentitan** (why yes, I am throwing you all for a loop here, am I not?); **Jordancatgirl** (well, no, this definitely isn't a RobinxSlade story. Kinda hard since he isn't in it… Glad you're enjoying it anyway!); **Guardian of Azarath **(you're confused? Hurrah! It's working!); **Me **(more to this story than meets the eye? But of course, my dear…); **Li-kun05 **(note to self – write more stories where Robin plays with biscuits… Also, yeah, keep an eye on the virginity thing there…); **Poison's Ivy **(well, you should like this chapter – Raven really _IS_ in it this time, I promise! This is _not_ a RobinxRaven story, you know that, and be glad of it too… "Obsessiveness" is a word, actually… And well done on your math test, dude!); **Narroch **(finally you review! Tchyeah, thought you might like the crazy dream… How does it feel being old, BTW?); and **CrazyInsomniac** (here again, as usual, to laugh at poor Robin's pain… well, whatever floats your boat, kid…).

Quinn and other people, I know you're around here somewhere…

Well, I was pleased with this chapter. It takes quite a bit of inspiration from _Van Helsing_.

On that note, did anyone see the video? It rocks – link is on my profile if you didn't catch it…

_Nevarmore – VII_

The Pit and the Pendulum

"There is no reason for you to curse the daylight so, Richard."

Robin snorted, muttering acidly to himself despite Father Stone's gentle jibes. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his shirt, braces and slacks – the shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned – sharpening a stake with a meat knife. Wood chippings littered the table's surface and the slayer had given himself three minor cuts to his fingers already, so aggressively was he hacking away at the stake.

There was about an hour of daylight left – it was growing steadily darker outside, but the last slivers of sun still peeked above the horizon, and the slayer was distracted by it. He looked over his shoulder at the window every few minutes, then cursed when he saw that it was still not quite dark enough for a vampire to begin its hunting.

He had seen Raven out in daylight.

But not this monstrous bird form she seemed to be able to take on.

The true _raven_.

He suspected it was a power only the dark granted her, and so he knew he must wait before _he_ began _his_ hunting.

"Here." Cyborg gently placed a bowl of vegetable soup before the slayer. "_Please_ eat something before you go out there, Richard. It is bitterly cold, and unfit for someone with no food in his stomach, especially someone of your build and… present health condition."

Robin grumbled under his breath again; he knew what the priest was implying. That he was too small and skinny, and that he was sickly to boot.

Being sickly didn't exactly _help_ the fact that he was small and skinny, rather _enhancing_ it, he felt inclined to point out; but didn't bother. Instead he bit his lip as he gave a few more unnecessarily hard thrusts with the knife on the stake, making it lethal to any_one_ or any_thing_ that might fall victim to it, and put them both aside.

"If it pleases you, Cyborg," he said wearily.

"It would, sir. Here, take this too." Cyborg placed down a tray of hot fresh bread. "Straight from the stove."

"Ah, you spoil me." The slayer took some and tore it apart, watching the steam rise from inside it. Waiting for it to cool enough to allow him to take a bite, his eyes wandered first to the clock, and then to the window.

As soon as it was dark, he was out of here, as many stakes in each hand as his fingers would close around.

That little _bitch_; if she thought she could get away with—

"So it is Wayne's stepdaughter, then? As you suspected?" Cyborg asked heavily, cutting into his thoughts.

Robin nodded.

"I am certain now. The Tarot does not lie, not when read by a professional such as my teacher. She is a true master in that respect."

The mocha-skinned priest nodded gravely.

"Then, as much as it burdens my heart, she must be dealt with."

Robin nodded too.

"Yes. I do not… _my_ heart is heavy too, Cyborg, believe me. I liked her, upon meeting her, and I trusted her. I did not think her capable of such things. But _that_… that is what vampires _are_. They _never_ seem what they truly are. That is the reason they _survive_."

"What is her purpose?" Cyborg asked, the question clearly rhetorical, for the slayer could not possibly give him an answer. "What is her motive?"

"I do not know." Robin bit into his bread, chewing it thoughtfully. "Envy of other girls? You said yourself that she was shy and lacking the… ah, qualities of one such as… _Usher's_ daughter, for example…"

He dipped his head as soon as he had mentioned Starfire, but Cyborg was too distracted to notice.

"As far as I can agree that other girls might envy one such as Lenore Usher, for she is a most beauteous creature," he said, "I cannot see how that might provoke Miss Roth to kill _other_ girls. She surely could not have known the others, for they were work-house and street girls, with the exception of Lenore herself and Mr Logan's fiancée. Did she even know _Lenore_?"

"Cyborg, I simply do not know why she is doing it," Robin whispered. "It is possible that she transforms at night against her will, does these things out of instinct, and then regrets her actions the next day. Whatever it is, she must be stopped. Even if she _is_ innocent in that respect – cursed with destruction she has no _want_ for – I cannot allow this to go on. It is in the best interests of _everyone_ in this city, _including_ Roth herself, if I deal with her tonight."

Cyborg gave another grave nod and sighed.

"I do not like this at all, Richard. I simply do not know how you can circulate your existence around matters such as this," he said heavily.

"It is no dream life, of that you may be certain."

"I should not think—"

There was a knock upon the chamber door and Cyborg blinked, cutting himself off.

"Now who could that be?"

The knocking started up again, fast and frantic; and the priest hurriedly rose from his chair to attend to the door.

Pushing his chair back a little, Robin picked up his stake and put one foot up against the table leg, enabling himself to get a good amount of leverage with which to spring across the kitchen, should the need arise.

Raven Roth really _did_ know too much about him.

Better paranoid than _dead_.

Cyborg opened the door and Beast Boy pelted into the kitchen, ducking under the priest's arm.

"Garfield—?" Cyborg near shrieked it in shock as the lithe teen made his speedy entrance, looking over his shoulder at him incredulously. "What in heaven's name do you think—?"

"Close the door, _close the door_!" Beast Boy interrupted, clearly panicked. His green eyes were huge and staring and sweat beaded on his face as he flapped his hands at the priest. "Sir, I implore you, close the door!"

As soon as Cyborg had done so, Beast Boy was at Robin's chair; practically in the slayer's lap, tugging at his shirt and shaking him.

"I saw her, _I saw her_!" He shrieked, twisting Robin's white shirt in his grip. "It's her, that girl! The Raven Murderer! _I saw her_!"

"You… saw…?" Robin looked at him in puzzlement, putting his hands on the younger boy's shoulders to calm him down. "Beast Boy, please, you are making no sense."

"Garfield, for heaven's sake…" Cyborg pulled him right away from Robin and plonked him in another chair. "Calm yourself down, sir. I shall fetch you some whisky to clear your head…"

Beast Boy nodded distractedly, shaking; and the slayer eyed him warily for a moment or two before pushing the tray of bread towards him.

"Here. Eat. It will make you feel better."

Beast Boy shakily grabbed some bread and began to eat it in an animalistic fashion. Meanwhile Cyborg returned with a small, shallow glass and a crystal bottle of deep amber liquor. He unscrewed the cap and poured a tiny amount into the glass, just about enough to cover the bottom. He pressed it into the young teen's hand.

"A stiff drink will also do you wonders, young sir. Just a small drop, to clear your senses."

Beast Boy nodded wearily, putting the bread aside and bringing the glass to his mouth; he knocked the whisky back, pulling a horrendous face as he swallowed. He handed it back to Cyborg, shaking his head vigorously.

"Ugh…" He massaged his forehead. "H-horrible."

"But no doubt you feel better for it."

"Yes." Beast Boy bit into his bread again to rid himself of the taste of the whisky. "Refrain from pouring me another though, sir, if you please."

"As you wish." Cyborg put the bottle and the glass aside and sat down again. "Now, if you would please tell young Mr Grayson here what it is which troubles you in a more coherent fashion…?"

"Very well." Beast Boy took a deep breath to calm himself down, gripping the table's surface. "I was on my way to the Rue Morgue, hoping to catch Dr Usher before he closed up to finalize some details about my dearest Terra's funeral, when I saw that girl come out of Chang's Pharmacy. I—"

"Wait one moment, sir." Robin put up his hand to stop him. "Which girl? Also, please note that my geography of this city is near non-existent. I have been here for but three days, and know not of this pharmacy."

"The girl you were speaking to only yesterday morning," Beast Boy replied in a hushed vice. "In the demolished library."

Robin's stomach sank.

"Raven Roth," he whispered in reply. "Wayne's stepdaughter…"

Beast Boy nodded quickly.

"The very one, sir."

"What of her?"

Beast Boy looked around briefly and nervously, as though he thought someone might be listening to him that shouldn't be.

"Were you not a dealer of and with such things, sir, I would fear of your disbelief," he said, leaning across the table. "But I know you will not think me mad when I inform you now of what I saw…"

"And what did you see, Beast Boy?" Robin gripped his stake angrily. "What did you see her do?"

Beast Boy closed his eyes for a second or two, silent.

"She is no human being, that girl," he said finally, clenching his fists. "She emerged from the pharmacy; I could see she was holding a paper bag, but what was in it, I could not tell you. After checking around her for a moment or two, as though to assure herself that no-one, as far as she was concerned, was watching her – I was behind a corner, and she did not notice me – she…"

Beast Boy stopped again, gripping at his hair.

Impatient, Robin opened his mouth to demand that he continue, but Cyborg laid a hand on his arm gently.

"Give him a little time, sir," he muttered. "This is all very new to him, and he is being faced with the killer of his bride-to-be."

The slayer folded his arms and rocked in his chair impatiently.

Eventually Beast Boy took another breath and began to speak again; his face was paler than ever before.

"…She… _Please_ do not think me a madman, sirs, but she… _transformed_…"

"_Transformed_?" Robin stood up abruptly, his tone sharp and interrogative. "By what measure? Please explain to me what you mean by "transformed", Beast Boy."

"She… a darkness seemed to enshroud her, gentlemen; I could not possibly describe it."

"Please, you _must_ try," Robin said desperately, _he_ leaning across the table now.

"It was as though…" Beast Boy waved his arms around, trying to demonstrate. "This terrible blackness seemed to come upwards, out of her very _being_… And her _eyes_, they… _glowed_. They glowed white."

He looked from the slayer to the priest and back again; the pair of them were silent.

"You… disbelieve me…?"

"No, no, of course not," Robin assured him hurriedly. "Please continue, Beast Boy. We are listening to your every word."

"Well, this darkness… it covered her completely, and she… her _shape_ changed. She became…"

"A _bird_," Robin finished when the younger teen trailed off uncertainly.

Beast Boy nodded vigorously.

"Yes, exactly that, sir! A bird! A giant black bird; the monstrous creature that I have seen before…"

"Then there is no doubt left within my mind." The slayer looked at his stake, both determined and saddened. "It is undoubtedly her, for Beast Boy, uninformed of my excursion earlier this day, has just given to us his own evidence, and all points to the same conclusion."

"What do we do?" Beast Boy asked softly, his green eyes frightened.

Robin stood up.

"I will destroy her," he replied coldly. "Excuse me, gentlemen; I must arm myself and fetch my coat."

He walked out the kitchen without another word, beginning to ascend the stairs; leaving the shocked Beast Boy and the morose Father Stone behind.

In his chamber, Robin buttoned his shirt up and tucked it in, pulling on his black pinstriped waistcoat over said shirt and braces. He got himself out a crimson cravat and tied it, making sure his cross was hanging in front of it. He completed his attire with his cross-inscribed wrist guards, buckling them tightly to protect the veins visible through the translucent skin there.

Then he went to his bed and pulled out his bag from beneath it.

Taking everything out of his belt and the sheathes in his boots, he discarded the things he knew he would not need – silver knife and gun with silver bullets, used for werewolves. He took out the coil of looped wire also – he wasn't too keen on it after slicing his fingers on it.

He laid those things to one side and looked over what was left.

Holy water, grappling hook, and no less than six stakes.

He still held the seventh razor sharp one in his hand.

Going into his bag, he pulled out the one "secret weapon" he did not use very often – moreover because he was not immensely skilled with it and needed more practice.

He could get by at close range, though, if he needed to; and it was _most_ effective.

A crossbow.

A leaving present from the True Master.

He sat down on the bed and unscrewed the cap on the bottle of holy water, dousing a little of it on the point of each stake. Then he carefully – securely – loaded the crossbow up with all six stakes in place of the traditional bolts. He slipped the safety catch on, checking it, and then lashed it securely to his belt with the leather cord attracted to it.

He slipped the seventh stake up his sleeve as a precaution, put the grappling hook back in his belt, pulled on his coat, and went back downstairs.

Cyborg and Beast Boy hadn't moved; although Beast Boy had another glass of whisky in front of him.

"I hope I shall see you later, gentlemen," Robin said softly, his voice lingering a little on "hope".

Beast Boy stood up abruptly.

"I want to come with you!" He said desperately. "Please, please, sir, I beg you…"

"No." Robin crossed the kitchen, shaking his head. "It is too dangerous. I will not allow you to put yourself in peril."

"I am not completely helpless!" Beast Boy seethed.

"Garfield, Richard is right," Cyborg said quietly, pushing him down again. "He is trained in the way of this practice; you are not. It is best if you remain here."

"_She killed my fiancée_!" Beast Boy screeched.

"I know." Robin reached for the door handle. "And she will pay for it. But I cannot afford a liability with me. Please understand me, Beast Boy. This girl… as you said yourself, she is not human. I cannot conceive of what kind of monster she _truly_ is. Let it be known that _I_ may not even return tonight…"

"But—"

"Enough!" Robin snapped. "I will hear no more from you! Goodnight, gentlemen."

He turned away and opened the door—

And was shocked to find someone standing right in his path, their hand raised about to knock.

It was Raven.

**TT**

"Sirs… _sirs_! I beg of you… what are you doing? Unhand me at once! Let me go, do you hear? _Let me go_!"

"I suggest you hold your tongue, Miss Roth," Robin snapped sourly. He nodded to Beast Boy, who gritted his teeth as he pulled tight the final knot of Raven's bindings.

The girl – _whatever_ she truly was – was tied to a main support beam running through the center of Robin's chamber from floor to ceiling, secured there by several lengths of thin but strong cord.

It was true that the way they were treating her was hardly gentlemanly. As soon as it had actually _registered_ with Robin that the girl standing right in front of him (in a dress of deep purple velvet, with black lace and similarly black silk trimmings, buttons and bows – her beauty belying her nature), was the very same girl he was going out to _slay_ (as it were), he had pounced on her, closely followed by Beast Boy; and they had wrestled her first to the ground, and then pulled her into the house.

Beast Boy had suggested taking her upstairs to make it more difficult for her to escape (while Robin had held her – and had quite a fight to do so) and the slayer had nodded his agreement, imploring Cyborg to find something to bind her with. He had offered a grim nod in reply and Robin and Beast Boy had taken her upstairs between them.

Cyborg had been quick to follow them, and between the three of them they had tied her securely to the wooden post.

All the while she had been shrieking that it was improper for them to be treating her in such a way, and that she didn't understand what they thought they were doing.

She had, of course, been ignored.

It had started to rain outside.

"Please—" She started again.

"Be silent!" Robin interrupted her angrily, slamming his palm against the beam to frighten her. It worked, for she cut herself up with a little cry and flinched away from him. "You have no right to protest, murderer! Frankly, you are lucky not to be dead already." He waved the stake in her face. "I happen to be rather skilled with this, as I am sure you can imagine…"

The girl looked at him, clearly terrified.

Maybe because she knew what he could do to her – and _would_, if she gave him even a sliver of an excuse.

"You do not know what you speak of, slayer," she whispered finally.

"Do not profess to me what I do and do not know!" Robin seethed. "I have kept you alive this long only to answer my questions. After that you shall be dealt with fittingly, make no mistake about it. Your campaign of terror on this city shall go no further."

"I am not the Raven Murderer!" Raven cried, struggling against her binds; it fell on deaf ears.

Beast Boy was sitting on Robin's bed, watching her balefully; it was clear he would like to deal with her in his _own_ way – in revenge for the death of his bride-to-be.

Cyborg stood tight-lipped at the door, blocking it; in case she managed to struggle loose. He held a stake of his own and had drawn a cross on holy water above the doorframe itself.

No vampiric being could leave this room without Cyborg wiping the cross away himself and nullifying its effect with the necessary incantation.

Robin got himself the wooden chair from the desk and pulled it in front of her, swinging it around and sitting on it in a reversed fashion; with his legs on either side of the back of it, folding his arms along the top to rest his head on. He had already discarded his coat again, making the crossbow lashed to his waist visible, and he toyed with the stake idly; with the air of someone who knew how to use it.

"Have you any care to listen to me, sir?" Raven asked him, leaning forward as much as her binds would allow her.

"I will listen to you only as long as you are speaking words I wish to hear," Robin replied smoothly. "Beyond that, and you are wasting my time."

Raven blinked at him.

"I do not know how I failed to notice it in you before, sir," she said, almost incredulous, "but you are exceedingly arrogant."

"And you, Miss Roth, are a murderous, lying she-devil," Robin replied, his tone rather amicable. "With the pleasantries aside, I would like to inform you that the cord binding you has been blessed and charmed by the good Father Stone over there. It disallows any kind of transformation, so I think you are rather at our mercy, hmm?"

"Transformation…?" The girl went rather pale in the face. "Sir, I know not what you speak of, I assure—"

"_Do not lie_!" Beast Boy was up from his seat, shaking with rage. "Do not deny it, you murderous _witch_! I _saw_ you! I _saw_ you, not even an hour ago, outside Chang's Pharmacy in Lower East Gotham!"

She went paler still, looking at the boy in detached horror.

"You… you could not have, for I…"

"Have you an alibi?" Robin asked waspishly.

She looked from him to Beast Boy and then back again, speechless.

"I did not… I cannot… _transform_, sirs…"

"You can, _you can_!" Beast Boy screeched. "A bird, a giant black bird! I have _seen_ you!"

A few tears formed in her wide violet eyes and she dipped her head.

"You… do not…"

"You cannot deny it," Robin said icily. "Two accounts are against you. I myself chased this same creature to your home, following it right through to your chamber, and found no trace of it. It now fits that you are the creature yourself. Garfield Logan here has also seen you transform. Can you deny it, Miss Roth? _Can_ you?"

Raven did not look up at him; her shoulders shook, but her sobs were silent.

Her three captors felt not even a prick of pity for the girl.

"I will take your silence as an agreement that you cannot deny what we have accused you of," Robin said coldly, "and so I will ask you another question."

He stopped, then got up from his seat and went to his desk.

"In fact, I will not even _ask_ you…" He grabbed Crane's psychology journals from his desk and returned with them, throwing them at her feet; with her head bowed, she could plainly see them.

"Perhaps you might like to explain to us all why these – the stolen journals; the _reason_ for the ransacking of the news archive in your stepfather's library wing – were in _your_ possession. Upon your _desk_, no less!"

Raven's head snapped up; and sure enough, her pale face was streaked with tears. She stared at him, speechless, for a few moments.

Then;

"_You_… had them?" She choked out.

Robin nodded curtly.

"And again, I ask you why _you_ had them. I will assume _you_ are the one who ransacked the news archive?"

"No, _no_!" Raven shook her head wildly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks again.

"You did, Raven." Robin once again pressed one hand against the beam, leaning into her; his voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "_You did_. It all fits together, and it all fits together to leave _you_… as our one and only suspect."

"_I am not the murderer_!" Raven screamed in distress, breathing hard in sheer terror as she looked from the stake to the crossbow to the near murderous expression on the slayer's face. "I am not the _monster_ here! _You_…" She looked up at her, her teeth gritted in anger of her own now. "You, sir – _you_ are the _murderer_ here! You make a living from _killing_ things, and you have the nerve to call _me_ a murderer?"

"I am a murderer of murderers, Miss Roth. I murder _your_ kind. I have never once killed an innocent person."

"Kill me, and I shall make for your first!" Raven spat.

"I do not think so. In the face of all the evidence I have gathered together, you do not seem innocent to me." Robin looked at her in disgust. "It is cleverly designed, Raven, it cannot be denied; but you have been messy about it all. First of all, when you met me, you clearly recognized me for what I was in terms of my occupation; like I fool, I affirmed your assumptions, and so you came to know your enemy. I was gathering my information from that news archive, on suggestion of Dr Roderick Usher, the mortician at the Rue Morgue. That evening, two rather coincidental things happened – the news archive from which I had taken my information was dismantled and therefore, in the aftermath, closed off to the public; and Dr Usher's daughter was attacked by the Raven Murderer. My theory is that by destroying the news archive, you were cutting off my information supply on the previous murders; and by doing away with Usher's own daughter, you would be putting Usher himself out of commission. The man would be too aggrieved by the murder of his beloved daughter to be focused upon his work."

"How can you—?" Raven started angrily, the tears flowing yet again.

"Be silent; I am far from done," Robin snapped. "There is more to this tale of horror, as you well know, Raven. Garfield and I spoke to your stepfather, even after you told us he would not see us – on the contrary, he seemed happy to speak with us, so it was obvious to me that you had lied in case he had, by chance, seen something that he might say against you; that he might relay to _me_, in ignorance of the fact that he was betraying his own stepdaughter. As it happened, he had seen nothing; but he mentioned a man by the name of Professor Jonathan Crane, a psychologist specializing in the study of fear and its effects on human psychosis. He mentioned his own theory on the murders; that it was possibly Crane, or someone imitating him, using a murder design to invoke fear in the public. After further separate investigations by Garfield and myself, we were able to confirm that Crane himself is deceased, and that the fear psychology journals themselves, which Wayne had cited to be in the library, had been taken. Yet another purpose for the ransacking. Upon following the beast to Wayne Manor, for I had expected it to attack _you_, I found that not only had it disappeared without a trace after entering your chamber, but the stolen journals upon your desk. What say you of _that_, Miss Roth?"

Raven looked at him silently, either overwhelmed or simply unable to come up with a lie.

"Very well." Robin did not give her long to ponder it; he leaned back away from her again. "I have one more question for you…"

"_Why did you do it_?" Beast Boy got there first, hissing it angrily. "What is your _reason_ for the deaths of these young girls? Girls like _Terra_. Girls like _you_."

Raven looked at the floor again.

"You have got it wrong," she said softly. "You have got it all wrong…"

"Then what _is_ the truth?" Robin spat. "_Indulge_ us then, if we are so wrong."

"I… I cannot." She shook her head; and a few tears hit the wooden floor. "_I cannot_."

"Well then, if we are wrong in accusing _you_… then you must _know_ who the _actual_ murderer is!" Cyborg put in suddenly from the doorway.

"You are working _for_ it, then?" Beast Boy spat. "You are _helping_ it?"

"_No_!" Raven cried, wrenching at her binds. "Please, you must let me go! I am not the murderer! You _must_ release me, _you must!_"

"You are not going _anywhere_ until you give me some answers!" Robin yelled at her. "And even then, the most likely place you will be going is _Hell_!"

"No, no…!" Raven sobbed. "_You do not understand_!"

"I understand perfectly," Robin whispered. "And I understand what I must do…"

"_I am not a vampire_!" She screamed at him, her violet eyes wild with distress. "Try me, test me! Throw holy water upon me, put a cross to my skin! You will _see_, sir! I am not the murderer!"

"Then you work _for_ the _true_ Raven Murderer? You _protect_ him?" Robin leaned right into her, flipping his cross up between his fingers and pressing it to her throat as he did so.

He blinked when it did nothing; it did not burn or hiss against her pale skin.

He withdrew it, letting it fall back against his crimson cravat.

"Tell me, then, as we have indeed wrongly accused you of being a vampire yourself," he said softly, a dangerous edge still lacing his every word. "Tell me. Is it a suitor? A _lover_? Are you so blinded by love you are _protecting_ him? And dear me, Raven… what _would_ your stepfather say about _that_?"

"A thousand curses on your wicked tongue, sir," the girl hissed at him. "You understand _nothing_."

Robin opened his mouth to fire back—

A shadow fell across the window. Large, dark, casting the shape of it across the floor of the dimly-lit chamber.

A hunched creature with large wings.

"_No_…" Raven whispered it, horror-struck.

Then she started to wildly struggle again.

"You _must_ release me!" She shrieked. "Please, _please_…!"

Ignoring her, Robin twisted his grip on his stake and made a sudden dash for the window, Beast Boy and Cyborg close on his heels. The slayer reached for the catch—

And the creature fled; like a curtain being whipped away, it spread its wings and was gone.

"_NO_!" Robin near-screamed it in frustration. "_No, you will not escape me this time_…"

He turned on his heel and tore out of the room, taking the steps three at a time and throwing open the kitchen door; he ran out into the rain and the darkness, looking up against it all.

He could still see the beast, flitting away high above the city; but knew he did not have the speed to catch up with it on foot.

He looked around wildly, praying for a cab to be nearby—

There was one, parked near the end of the street. The driver had gone inside his own empty cab out of the heavy rain, as the vehicle was dangerous to pull in this weather. The two horses were standing with their heads down, looking utterly miserable.

He ran for it.

—

Watching Robin go tearing out of the chamber, Cyborg snapped to his senses and followed him, his own cross pounding against his chest as he ran.

"Wait!" Beast Boy ran too, desperate to be there; to watch the creature that had taken his fiancée being slain.

"Please!" Raven cried as he ran past. "You must release me! I have to stop him!"

Beast Boy scraped to a halt.

"Robin?" He asked.

"No…" Raven panted it. "Please, you must…"

"Wh…?"

"_Let me go_!" Raven screamed.

Beast Boy hesitated; then he snatched up the knife Robin had discarded on his bed and cut the first loop of cord – not quite freeing her; but she would be able to pull herself loose.

Then he ran after the slayer and the priest.

—

Robin pounded on the door of the cab, his ebony hair already plastered to his head and his clothes drenched and clinging.

The driver, in the uniform of a full ensemble – shirt, waistcoat, cravat, jacket with tails and top hat – opened the door a little.

"I need a ride," the slayer panted desperately. "Please…"

The driver shook his head.

"I am deeply sorry, lad. No more rides tonight, not in this weather…"

In less than three seconds, the crossbow was pointed in his face.

"_Please_." The desperation the slayer's voice was painful. "If you do not help me, the Raven Murderer will claim yet another victim tonight."

The man looked from the crossbow to the slayer and then back again; then gave a shaky little nod.

"Alright, son, no need to…" He clambered out. "Get in."

"I am going on the roof."

Robin didn't wait for the driver to agree to this notion, already gripping the roof rack and hauling himself up.

"Robin!" Cyborg was hurtling down the street. "Robin, _wait_…!"

"Cyborg, hurry!" Robin looked up desperately; yes, he could still see the thing, but it was gaining distance.

The priest reached the cab and practically threw himself inside.

"Follow that thing up there, flying to the west!" Robin yelled down to the driver.

"Right you are, sir!" The driver gave a slap of the reins and the horses came to life, starting down the street at a quick trot.

"Wait!" Beast Boy was running down the street now, nearly at the cab as it moved away. "Wait for me!"

It was too late for the driver to stop the horses now; Robin went right to the edge and stretched out his arm.

"Jump, Beast Boy!" He cried; the younger teen gritted his teeth, ran as hard and fast as he could…

And leapt.

Robin caught his hand and heaved with all his strength, dragging him onto the roof. He threw him down and stood again, clutching his crossbow and intently watching the flying beast.

"Thankyou," Beast Boy panted, kneeling up.

"I do not know why you wish to see this," was all the slayer said in reply.

The cab was picking up tremendous speed, dangerously so in the blinding rain, as the horses now cantered down street after street, forced on by the driver.

"Why are we on the roof?" Beast Boy called over the pounding of rain and hooves and wheels.

"Because if we get close enough, I can kill it from here!" Robin shouted back, indicating his crossbow.

"Where do you think it is headed?"

"I do not know." Robin squinted against the rain; they were gaining on the beast, as the horses could move faster on the ground than the creature could in the sky in this weather. "I do not intend to let it get there, either…"

The cab hurtled around a corner, near throwing the pair of them off the roof; Robin braced himself against the rack around the edge of the roof and Beast Boy smacked into him.

But suddenly they were right beneath the flying fiend.

The cab ran along a wide street, coming away from the city center and outwards into the surrounding grounds of houses and public buildings.

Robin cared little for their surroundings as he nocked the crossbow and aimed upwards, bracing his legs wide apart to keep his balance on the shuddering vehicle.

He counted to three under his breath and pulled the trigger; the whole thing sent a shockwave back down his arm as it fired off, shooting the stake high into the sky—

It missed its head by less then two inches.

Spooked, the giant black beast kicked higher with a piercing screech.

Cursing (language Cyborg would have smacked him around the head for had he heard him), Robin nocked the weapon a second time and took aim again, this time aiming it a little beyond the creature so that it would fly _into_ it.

He began to count again—

The cab juddered over some bump in the road and the slayer was knocked sharply off balance, sending him sprawling across the roof to land in a wet tangled heap with Beast Boy.

"Confound it!" The slayer snapped, wrenching himself away furiously.

Cyborg suddenly swung the door to the cab open and leaned out, shouting up to them;

"Do not waste them, Richard!" He pointed out ahead. "I think we may be nearing its destination…"

Staggering to his feet, Robin looked ahead.

Shooting _himself_ with his crossbow couldn't have hurt any worse.

_The House of Usher_.

"Oh no you don't!" He screamed upwards at the creature, aiming a third time. "Not _again_, my friend!"

He barely even aimed this time, but the stake went through one of its wings. The thing staggered in the sky, emitting another piercing, ungodly scream; and then it began to weave downwards towards the big house.

Robin made to jump down – to go after it on foot – and Beast Boy grabbed the back of his sopping waistcoat, hauling him back.

"You cannot outrun a horse, sir," he told him. "Wait until we reach the house."

Indeed, it took hardly any time at all for the cab to clear the grounds, pulling up outside the steps up to the porch.

However, in that time, the beast had already reached the window it clearly wanted.

A window which Robin recognized; and that was because he had sat on the sill of it two nights ago, awaiting such a thing.

This time Beast Boy did not stop him as he took a flying leap from the cab's roof to the wet ground. The slayer did not look back, nor did he go for the front door.

It would take too long.

Building up his speed, he threw his arm up over his face as he leapt through the window of Usher's study; using his elbow to punch the glass and the rest of his weight to smash through it. He rolled onto the floor amidst the shower of broken glass and landed into a crouch.

Dr Roderick Usher, seated at his desk, writing, _stared_ at him.

"Good god, sir!" He spluttered, finding his voice as the slayer stood up. "What in all of _hell_ do you think you are—?"

"Where is Lenore?" Robin interrupted desperately.

Usher stared at him all over again.

"Why, she is upstairs. For what reason—?"

It was all Robin needed; as he had before, two nights ago, he threw open the door to the study and skittered out into the hallway, before starting up the stairs – leaving a trail of broken glass and water behind him.

And as before, her scream indicated that the beast had gotten there before he had.

"The creature…?" Usher panted, following the slayer upstairs as fast as he was able.

"It has returned!" Robin cried. "But believe me, doctor…" The slayer gritted his teeth as he made it up the final steps. "I shall _die_ before I let it harm her!"

Once again, he kicked in the door to her room—

And he stopped dead.

Because _that_ was where the similarities between the two situations – that of two nights ago and that of tonight – ended.

The creature was hunched over her; a huge black apparition of pure ungodliness.

And it turned to him – she was in its mouth; her throat in its jaws, her head lolled back, her body limp on the floor from where it had partway lifted her. The teeth were sunk deep into the honeyed flesh of her neck, crimson staining her perfect skin and dripping to the carpet beneath her.

Her emerald eyes were closed.

Her beautiful body, beneath a floor length pink silk nightgown, was completely still.

The cross was missing from her neck.

The beast – the Raven Murderer – turned to him, his Lenore (_lost to him for evermore_) gripped in its jaws; and he saw, for the first time, bathed in proper light, that it was not a _raven_ at all.

It was a _bat_.

Man-like.

A "bat-man".

"_Starfire_…" He whispered it, his voice shaking.

Usher appeared behind him, panting.

His face drained of colour; and the two of them stood in the doorway, side by side, silent and still – staring at the monster that had taken the lives of so many young girls.

That had now added Lenore Usher to its list.

The Raven Murderer; which was not a raven after all. A bat; black, monstrous, with leather-like wings (with a slight rip through the thin membrane of one of them) half-folded, powerful back legs; jaws and teeth and eyes that shone with nothing but a haunted strange… _intelligence_.

Saddened anger; angered sadness.

It was difficult to tell quite which radiated from its very being.

Usher could not speak; he only shakily put his hand on the slayer's wet shoulder, missing twice before he got a grip on him.

Not looking at him – his eyes fixed only on the murderous beast – Robin raised his crossbow, nocking it in motion.

_And then she opened her eyes_.

Slightly; barely enough for him to see the green of them.

_But she was alive_.

Her gaze settled on him, and she grimaced; fresh blood welled from beneath its teeth and slipped down over her throat. Her arm outstretched a little; her fingers flexed, as though reaching for him. Her mouth opened, but no words came out; only blood, which ran down her chin.

The beast's wings flexed, also eying the slayer – and his crossbow. He saw the coil in its legs – it was going to move again, probably back through the window it had smashed in to take its victim.

Usher also saw the life in his daughter and grabbed the slayer by the shoulders, shaking him.

"For God's sake, man, _kill it_!" He shrieked at him. "My daughter, _my daughter_!"

The noise spooked the bat-like creature; its wings opened out with a single sudden movement and it retreated backwards, dragging the girl with it by her throat.

She opened her mouth, as if to scream, but again, no sound came.

"_Get away from her_!" Robin screamed at it, wrenching away from Usher. The crossbow was up again and it was gone; with a flurry of leathery membrane and black powerful limbs, it shot back through her window, hauling her with it.

The stake went into the window frame.

"_LENORE_!" Usher wailed in utter despair, shoving the slayer aside and running to the window.

"It cannot get far," Robin murmured, more to himself, coming to the window also and wrenching his stake back out. He leaned out of the broken bedroom window, clutching the rescued stake.

"There…" Usher pointed outwards; beyond the house, a little way across the grounds, was a lone, crumbling grey clock tower, a large bell visible in silhouette through the large rectangular "windows" of the thing.

Wounded and weighed-down, the bat-man was making for the tower rather than flying off into the sky.

"You will never make it in time!" Usher cried, agonized.

"Watch me," Robin hissed.

Working quickly, a sudden idea coming to his head, he pulled out his grappling cable and tied one end of it to the stake he had just pulled out of the window frame. He crammed the thing back into the bow, nocked it and aimed beyond the beast towards the nearest window of the clock tower.

He braced one foot against the windowsill and fired.

The stake shot clear across the gap, carrying the cable with it; it hit its destination and caught just as the bat-man itself stumbled and scrabbled upwards into the tower.

"There is a priest downstairs," Robin said breathlessly, wrapping the cord tightly around one hand and arm. "My associate, Father Victor Stone. Please bring him to the tower as fast as you are able."

Usher nodded, backing up out of the room.

"Grayson, my daughter…?"

"I cannot promise you she is still alive," Robin replied, stone-faced over his _own_ agony, as he pulled himself up onto the windowsill. "But I _do_ promise that after tonight, that creature will kill no more…"

Taking a deep breath, the slayer stepped off the edge of the windowsill into the wet black oblivion of the night.

His descent – as though into an abyss – lasted mere moments, however; his fall followed the direction of the rope, taking him towards the clock tower. He counted on the terminal velocity of the entire movement to carry him right up to his destination, and even then was forced to brace himself against the wall of the bell tower and haul himself up the last few feet.

He dragged himself up onto the sill of _this_ window – vast, stone – and stood, soaked and chilled to the bone, surveying the macabre scene laid before him.

The room, roofed in, was cold, barren stone – wet around the edges from the rain, for it was square, with a large "window" cut into each of the four walls; from which the sound of the single bell would issue. The bell in question was heavy, more black than the cold grey of iron due to age, wear and weather; it hung from the ceiling above an endless square black abyss right through the center of the floor, all the way down. The pendulum within it was still, next to the ropes that descended down from within the bell to the pit below.

Across the floor, near said pit, the Raven Murderer had clearly taken an eighth victim; still, on the stone floor, there was no spark of life left within Lenore Usher now as the creature bent deeply over her, its mouth still fastened to her slender throat, drinking from her.

"_Go to Hell_," Robin whispered, hot tears stinging his eyes as, once again, he raised the crossbow.

_This_ stake went into its shoulder, sinking deep into the black fur-covered flesh.

Lifting its head from her neck, the beast screeched and howled in agony; although the slayer had not hit anything vital (in vampire terms), the tip of the stake, doused in holy water, was doing some damage beneath its skin. The smell of burning flesh became apparent and a hissing sound, accompanied by a little acrid smoke coming from the wound, drove the creature to despair. It reared, its wings flapping in its distress.

Its gaze turned on Robin, who leapt down from the windowsill, his crossbow raised and ready to fire again. He had only two stakes left within it, and he was not an expert with the weapon; but at such close proximity, the creature was at _his_ mercy, not vice versa.

Even when, _as_ he leapt down, the thin chain of his cross snagged and caught on one of the jutting stones in the frame of the window; in midair, he could not abort his motion, and it snapped as he hit the floor, the whole necklace falling with a _clink_ some way away.

Briefly – _stupidly_ – he turned his attention from the bat-man to locate it; and the thing lunged at him. Hearing it, he backflipped out of the way at the last second, coming upright again to point the bow threateningly at it; daring it to come closer.

It moved – slowly, deliberately, with the intelligence of a human – around him; circling him as though a vulture. But he moved too, so that they, in effect, circled each other, neither letting up their pace nor murderous gaze.

With a sudden flap of its wings, the thing took off again, into the air above him; arcing right over him to place itself behind him. Robin whipped around and fired upwards with the crossbow; this time he got it in the gut.

It proved not be the best of ideas when it collapsed out of the air on top of him, sending him onto his back beneath it. His head hit stone and the crossbow became trapped beneath the bulk of the bat-man.

It screeched again in pain, the high-pitched sound sending needles through the slayer's skull to contend with the stinging ache already there from its meeting with the stone floor. The beast snapped at his neck – unprotected by his usual cross – and he desperately managed to move his head aside; and with its lunging movement, felt the weight of it shift a little off his lower body.

He smashed his knee upwards, driving the stake further into the beast's gut; another high wail of agony came with it and the thing reared off him, rolling and writhing on the floor.

The slayer rolled onto his feet. He stood up. He nocked the crossbow, snapping into position the final stake. He raised it and took aim, focusing on the heart of the screeching creature.

And his _red death_ took ahold of him.

_Not now, not now!_

His mind screamed it in despair as, unable to get his breath – wracked by coughing – he bent over, grasping at his chest through his wet waistcoat and shirt. He lost his grip on the crossbow; his convulsing fingers unable to hold onto it, and staggered aside, hardly able to keep his balance as he lungs tried desperately to get up what it couldn't handle.

Nausea washed over him and he fell to his knees, bringing up his supper and blood and blackness; the acrid tar that seemed to come from nowhere within him.

Oh, he knew where it came from…

The junk in his lungs heaved too, loosening, and that followed, leaving him coughing and spitting to rid himself of the last of it.

Panting deeply, he dragged himself back up to his feet and turned around, searching for the crossbow—

The bat-man lunged at him and sank its teeth into his exposed throat.

Weakened and shocked – bowled over by its weight on top of him – he hit the floor a second time.

_No, no, NO! Not me, not **me**, no… **I** am supposed to kill **you**…_

Its whole jaw had fastened around his thin neck, while the claws adorning the wings of the beast had scrabbled at his collar and cravat, pulling them loose.

The slayer struggled, clawing and pounding at its head as it bit deeper and began to feed off him. The wetness of his clothes had made it so that it was impossible for the stake up his sleeve to slide easily out and he was already weak—

"_In excelcus deo_!"

Cyborg's voice rang across the stone chamber, the words holy and Latin; and some invisible force smashed into the beast broadside, unsettling it and knocking it aside. It rolled over and reared, screeching its protest; its attention redirected towards the three new arrivals that had interrupted its feast of slayer blood.

At the forefront, Father Victor Stone stood, one hand outstretched where he had released the energy of the holy incantation; behind him, Garfield Logan had raised the stake Robin had given him the day before, while Dr Roderick Usher appeared to have snatched up a large wood and metal sculpted crucifix on his way out of the house.

Recognizing the threat they presented to it – particularly the priest – the bat-man backed off slightly, hissing.

Rolling over, Robin groaned as he tried to get up; the blood was dripping in a steady flow from his throat to the stone floor.

Seeing the blood and tempted beyond its wariness, the creature made for him again with a flap of its wings—

"NO!"

Cyborg and Beast Boy broke into a run almost in unison, racing to get to the weakened slayer before the bat-like creature did.

"Retrieve your daughter!" Cyborg yelled back to Usher.

The man nodded and took off around the other side of the pit in the center of the room; but the creature saw him and suddenly switched its priorities. It seemed to have decided that it hadn't finished with Lenore and changed direction, making to cut Usher off instead.

"Get back, vile demon!" Usher screamed at it as it came towards him, swinging the crucifix out at it.

It swooped above him and lashed out with one wing, knocking the crucifix out of his grip and sending it plummeting over the edge of the bell's abyss.

Aghast, Usher staggered back from it, defenseless against its nature now.

It landed heavily and began to advance upon him—

A third stake sank itself into its thigh, making it screech and go berserk all over again. Using the distraction, Usher fled from it, running for his slain daughter.

No longer interested in him, the bat-man followed the direction in which the stake had come; tracing it back to the slayer, who stood – swaying, soaked with rain and blood, his cravat clutched to his throat to stem the bleeding – with the crossbow raised.

It was empty now.

The beast flapped upwards again, making its way across the abyss towards him—

Robin held out his hand and Beast Boy slapped his stake into it; with one single fluid movement, Robin had loaded that seventh stake into the crossbow, nocked it and raised it once more.

The creature didn't go for _him_.

It swooped at the now-defenseless Beast Boy; the teen saw it at the last moment and tried to run—

The thing knocked him against the stone wall, turning then on Cyborg when he ventured near to rescue his friend.

Robin raced at it from behind; but it heard him and lashed out with its wing, as it had done to Usher – and, as it had done to Usher, sent his weapon flying out of his hands a second time.

Rocking his weight back following the blow – it had caught him in the face too and he felt blood making its way down his jaw from a deep gash in his cheek – the slayer swung his body into a flying roundhouse kick, his boot catching the beast in the neck.

He got his fingers inside the button slit of his right sleeve and _tore_ it open; the stake slid out into his hand.

The only one he had left.

He leapt for the thing; and, with a human-like precision and execution, it side-stepped and rammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling. The stake clattered to the floor near the fallen Beast Boy, whom Cyborg was hauling up.

Robin rolled to save himself, still landing in a heap due to his condition; he hauled himself up, finding himself now only a few steps from Usher, who was cradling his daughter in his arms.

Weakened, weaponless, the slayer backed up now too, clenching his shaking hands into fists and readying his body to protect himself the only way he had left; martial arts.

Not overly effective against vampires, but he wasn't left with much of a choice.

It opened its wings. Its jaws opened—

And a black bird-like shape suddenly manifested itself in front of Robin; placing itself between the slayer and the beast he was attempting to slay.

The bat-man stopped, hissing.

The shadows drew back and formed themselves into a teenaged girl, dressed in deep purple.

_Raven_.

"Stepfather, _please_!" She threw her arms out in front of the bat-man. "You know not what you are doing, but _please_… I know you are in there. I _know_ you can hear me! You must _stop_!"

"Your… _stepfather_?" Robin choked from behind her.

Raven did not turn to him, but instead answered icily;

"Now you see my motives, slayer…"

—

Across the room, Father Victor Stone lifted the stake that had landed near him.

It was wet, drenched with the rainwater.

It was all he needed it to make it ten times as lethal.

He blessed it.

—

The beast gazed at her – at his stepdaughter, if her words were true.

If, underneath the macabre mask, this thing truly _was_ Bruce Wayne.

"_You_…" Usher stood, white in the face, shaking with anger. "Wayne… You _murdered_ my _daughter_…"

"It is not his fault!" Raven pleaded, looking her shoulder at the mortician. "He does not know what he is doing, it is a curse—"

"Raven!" Robin leapt up and shoved the girl aside as the beast – her stepfather or not – lunged for her; he cracked his leg out, kicking it backwards several paces.

"_No_!" Raven screamed. "No, you do not understand!"

"_You_ do not understand!" Usher shouted, catching her wrist and twisting it. "He has murdered eight young women – women like _yourself_. Women like my _daughter_!"

He pointed at Starfire; beautiful in death, like all the others, but dead all the same.

Then he threw Raven aside.

He rushed for the beast as well as it righted itself, fixing its murderous gaze on Robin.

"Robin!" Cyborg caught the slayer's attention as the beast began to advance upon him again, recovered from the kick; he threw the stake to him, high above the pit.

Robin caught it, flipped it over in his hand and thrust it upwards—

The bat-man impaled itself upon it, the sharpened, blessed, holy water-doused point piercing its heart.

Robin swung aside as it _screamed_; and staggered towards the edge of the pit.

It swayed, keeled, fell—

And Dr Roderick Usher got in its way.

"_Usher_!"

Robin yelled it, leaping up too late; reaching out too late.

With a final scream, Usher plummeted with the killer of his daughter into the black depths of the pit; knocked over the edge with it under its weight and bulk.

Raven hauled herself to her feet, wide-eyed and speechless as she watched them disappear over the edge.

Her eyes glowed white suddenly and the slayer stepped back from her in alarm as – and as Beast Boy had described – her shape darkened and melted into that of a giant bird.

A black raven.

It sank through the floor.

Perhaps she could reach them before they hit—

There was a dull sickening crunch; both screams abruptly died.

The adrenaline still racing in him – driving him on – Robin ran to the windowsill and snatched up his grappling hook; then he ran back and dove over the edge of the pit, falling headlong into the depths of the abyss.

"_Robin_!" He heard Cyborg screech.

Caring little for it, he swung his grapple upwards and felt it catch and tangle around a piece of wooden frame work somewhere above him.

He swung safely down, landing non-too-gracefully despite it; and straightened up.

The adrenaline all seemed to drain out of him as the horrific sight met his eyes.

Dr Roderick Usher had hit the ground first, and there was no doubt within the slayer's mind that he had not survived the landing.

Sprawled partly on top of him – naked, with the same blessed stake thrust through his heart – was indeed Bruce Wayne.

A macabre bat-man no more.

Raven knelt over them both, her head bowed.

Robin staggered over to her; and then collapsed, the seriousness of his injuries suddenly overwhelming him.

Raven looked at him, tears staining her face.

"I hope you are happy," she whispered.

Robin shook his head weakly, groaning.

"This occupation… has _never_ made me happy…"

She looked down at her stepfather for a moment or two, then looked back at his killer.

"You need medical care," she said softly.

"You do not wish… me dead?"

"I am… as much to blame as _you_…"

Robin closed his eyes; he knew he was not going to recover from this. He could feel it deep within him. His throat had been almost torn open; not enough for him to bleed to death immediately, but he knew it could never be fixed.

If he died now, right here on the floor…

It didn't bother him anymore. For once, the thought was welcome to him, rather than feared.

"Robin… Richard…" Cyborg's voice again; he and Beast Boy had come down the steps, the priest carrying Starfire.

Through his hazing vision, the slayer saw the girl he loved and weakly reached up for her.

"She is gone, Robin."

"I know…" Robin groaned again, his hand dropping.

Cyborg and Beast Boy knelt beside him also.

"We must get you medical help," the priest whispered. "Come, I shall carry you…"

"I will not live." Robin reached for Starfire again. "Please… let me… hold her…"

"Of course you will live!" Beast Boy said, sounding frightened. "You were… up there, sir, you were truly amazing. Of course you will live, and you will go on to do this. To save people. To be some Boy Wonder. To be a _hero_."

Robin only shook his head, grimacing.

"_Lenore_…"

Cyborg bit his lip; then finally lowered Starfire down next to him, so that he could put his arms around her.

As he held her, Robin discovered, in her hand, the cross he had given her.

He cried into her hair as the world began to darken around him.

Cyborg laid a hand on Raven's shoulder; she seemed in shock, tears running down her face, but no choking distressed sobs to accompany them.

And that was the final sad, strange sight; the closing of the case of the Raven Murders.

A dying hero.

Three more bodies.

And three others, helpers in one way or another, with no place to put themselves at all.

* * *

Duuuudes…

Tragic, ain't it?

Now aren't we all **glad** that it's not RobinxRaven after all?

As for poor Starfire… I am surprised you didn't work it out sooner. She was always destined to die, right from the start. That is why she was named Lenore. For what is the "lost Lenore" famous for but for being… well, lost. _Dead_.

_Soooo_… Raven _wasn't_ the killer; it was dear Brucie instead…

Anyways, this **isn't** the last chapter. There is one final chapter with an accompanying journal entry, to be put up soon. This final chapter offers an explanation for everything. Wanna know why Bruce did it and how he came to be this creature? Wanna know why Raven did what she did – and why **she** wasn't attacked? Wanna know why Robin is a slayer, and what his mysterious illness is?

You gotta come back next time, peeps.

But wait, kids! There's more! I did another picture! It's one for either lovers of RobinxStarfire or indeed _haters_ of RobinxStarfire. It's called _Sorrow for the Lost Lenore_, and you can get to it by the DeviantART link on my profile. I am proud of it so _please_ check it out if you have a minute.

_Thankyouuu_!

- RobinRocks xXx

P.S: "In excelcus deo" is Latin for "Glory to God in the Highest". According to Wikipedia, anyway…


	14. The Journal of Richard Grayson: VII

_The Journal of Richard Grayson, a Slayer_

_Tuesday 4th November, 1845_

_Now I find myself within a race; for indeed this may be my last entry into this humble journal – which has, to some extent, become my legacy._

_It is all that will remain of me soon enough – that, and perhaps any monument in the churchyard that anyone is kind enough to lay upon my place of final rest._

_Ah, yes – I am dying. I have always known that, of course. My curse has always reminded me. But it seems that this curse shall not be the thing to kill me after all._

_My battle last night with the Raven Murderer has left me grievously wounded. I am lucky to have survived the night, this I know. It is unlikely I shall survive this next one._

_I wept as I watched the sunrise, for it is something I have always loved. With sunrise dawns a new day, with new promises and hopes. I wept as I watched what was most probably my last, for I have no desire to die._

_And yet, better still this way than the slow, drawn out one that undoubtedly my curse would have cast upon me in the coming months. Better to die by my trade than by the thing which stared me upon this unwholesome path to begin with._

_Death holds no illusions for me. I believe in God – for I have worn His symbol around my neck, cleansed my stakes in water made holy by His name and beseeched His protection. But I know not if Heaven and Hell exist._

_It seems I shall find out soon enough._

_I begged them not to take me to hospital. I do not wish to die alone in a white room which I do not know. The good Father Stone, my dear friend Cyborg, was obliging enough. Neither of us have pretended about it all – I am dying, and have no hope of recovery from the state in which my brawl with the beast left me. So he brought me back here, to his parish house, and laid me within the bed he has so generously allowed me to sleep in these past few days. I fear death a little less under these circumstances. This house is blessed, under God's eye, and sets me at ease._

_Twice my pen has slipped from my fingers; I am so weak I can scarce put pen to paper. But I must – I must keep writing, for as long as I am able, because I know that after this…_

_I cannot have long left in this world. Perhaps another few hours, at the most. Breathing is becoming more difficult; my chest heaves in a way that is frightening, in a way that makes me fear that each I take will be my last._

_No, I must write of my sorrow, and my guilt._

_My guilt is on the part of Raven Roth – for surely it is obvious to me by now that she was guilty to a certain extent. My old master's Tarot had not lied when it had foretold of the girl's deception, for indeed she **did** deceive me. For that, she must surely feel guilty, for it is, as least in part, her fault that these Raven Murders were precedented on this scale. _

_But I have murdered her stepfather – the only family she had in this world. That is my job – and have I not stopped the Raven Murderer, as I swore I would? Ah, yes, all that I have achieved. But this victory is sour to me._

_Perhaps it is just my own death making me melancholy._

_My **sorrow** is for the lost Lenore; nameless here for evermore._

_Oh, Lenore!_

_I would gladly give my life would it save her own; alas, it would appear my own life is not truly mine, at least not to give, for it is ebbing from me even as I write of this desire._

_That rare and radiant maiden; whom the angels now clasp in **my** stead. Perhaps, if there is a Heaven, and I am permitted there, I shall be with her again. In life it could not have been so; but now her smile is with the stars, far more radiant than any I have ever seen in the sky, and perhaps soon I shall join her._

_No longer do I have a place in this world; long have I walked the edges of it, but no more have I a place among the material of this modern world in which we dwell; on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloats over. _

_But whose violet velvet lining with the lamplight gloating over, **she** shall press, ah, nevermore!_

_As for her father – at this again I am much aggrieved. Dr Roderick Usher had no cause to die, and already at the loss of his daughter…_

_Perhaps it was a mercy to him, but I feel only sorrow for the man. Had he reclined but a few steps, he would still be amongst the living, of this I am sure._

_This has been a sad business indeed; and with a macabre end about it all._

_And while I may take nothing material to the grave with me, my mind and my memories are mine to keep. Forget thy memories of Lenore; forget this lost Lenore I never shall._

_Starfire._

_The beauty of whom outshines – and still outshines – the fire of a thousand stars._

_As for me, I must lay my pen aside for the final time. I have let it slip from my shaking fingers a further three times and can write no more._

_Farewell to these humble pages which have served as a friend to me; somewhere I have been able to write of my pain and pleasure; my joy and sadness; my ease and worry. I have been able to confide within these pages – and those of my case file – what I shall disclose to no man by discourse nor whisper._

_And from this bed, and that shadow that lies floating on the floor, my body and soul shall be lifted—_

_Nevermore._


	15. Nevermore

Kyah! At last we reach the end of this macabre Poe-inspired little _Elseworlds_ tale! Dearie dearie me… Well, at least everyone seemed to enjoy _The Pit and the Pendulum_ – I had some fun writing that chapter, I admit…

However, don't jump the gun too quick, kids! Robin _isn't_ dead yet! Stay tuned for this final chapter of _Nevarmore_ to find out what the Red Death is, why Bruce Wayne killed people, why Raven was never attacked by him, why Robin is a slayer and a whole bunch of other fun stuff!

_Fun_, she says…

A huge thankyou to everyone has reviewed over the past seven chapters (and adjoining journal entries, courtesy of our dear dying slayer), and thankyou to all who reviewed last chapter, including: **Quinn and His Quill **(I very much doubt that shrieking "In excelcus deo!" will do anything, Quinn, and but I am glad that last chapter met your approval); **Li-kun05 **(virginity thingie that you picked out is explained this chapter, duuuuuuuude! And no, I don't think Robin playing with biscuits will ever show up in _Small Print_. We _did_ mention blueberry muffins once, though…); **Guardian of Azarath **(to be honest, I thought more people would figure out that Star was gonna die. Her name kind of screamed "Kill me off!". Don't get me wrong, I love Starfire, I didn't do it because I hate her or anything…); **Rochelleteentitan** (yay, someone else who figured that Starfire was gonna get it in the neck! Aw, but how kind – keeping it to yourself so as not to spoil it…); **JenniGirl1** (well, unless Robin suddenly develops necrophilia, I think you can rest assured that him and Star won't be "at it" again. Maybe in the afterlife…); **Nadiagirl **(aw, yeah, it is sad that poor Starfire died. Like I said, I didn't do it because I dislike her. She just… had to die, I guess…); **Poison's Ivy **(well, I am hopeful indeed that the alert you should have received for the final chapter of this (the one _after_ this one)has made your day. And yeah, I was gonna say that surely you'd be _sad_ if this _was_ RobinxRaven, since poor Robin is on his deathbed – and if it _had_ been RobinxRaven then I would have had to swap Raven and Starfire's roles, making _Raven_ Lenore, in which case she would have died… So yeah, despite everyone's narking and nagging, aren't we happy indeed that it wasn't RobinxRaven after all?); **Me **(well, you know, I am totally surprised that more people didn't get an epiphany when I mentioned Langstrom a little further back. Anyone familiar with _Batman: TAS_ should know that this guy is famous for being none other than… _Man-Bat_); **Narroch** (_you_! I am _appalled_ with you! Hello, Ms Friend-of-someone-with-the-entirety-of-_Batman:TAS_-on-DVD…? LANGSTROM! _Why_ didn't you figure it out? I am still glad you enjoyed the chapter, but really… Slap on the wrist for you!); and **CrazyInsomniac **(who just keeps on coming back time and time again to witness poor Robin's pain… Who did you think was the killer then? I did deliberately write so it would make it _seem_ as though it was Raven, but some people saw through me…).

Wow, yeah, just to say… there is mucho talking and not much action in this chapter. Still, it is needed to get everything out in the open. I hope it doesn't bore you too much…

Enjoy our last step back in time to Gotham City in 1845 in this; the final chapter of _Nevarmore_!

_Nevarmore – VIII_

Nevermore

The dusk was drawing near when she arrived at Father Stone's parish house.

The priest, sitting at the kitchen table with young Garfield Logan, was surprised to see her there.

"Miss Roth?" He blinked at her. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Raven looked at the ground for a moment or two; in truth, he had every right to turn her away.

"Please…" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "…Still he lives?"

Cyborg nodded solemnly.

"Barely. He will not live the night, but for the moment…"

"Please, if I might see him, only for a moment?"

Cyborg gazed at her in silence for a moment or two; and her heart sank, thinking he was going to refuse.

With a deep sigh, the priest opened wide the door.

"For a few moments." He invited her in with a wave of his hand. "I am sure he would be glad of the company in his final hours."

She gave a little nod and stepped into the small kitchen.

Beast Boy, with a mug of hot meat broth in front of him, eyed her balefully as she stepped in; to him, she was in part responsible for all the deaths that had come of the Raven Murders. It was clear to them all now that she had been protecting her stepfather from the threat of the slayer-about-town, and so it was partly her fault that so many had died.

She seemed aware of this fact, for she was very meek as Cyborg shut the door and turned to her.

"He is upstairs, in the room in which we captured you only last night."

"I thank you." The girl turned and started up the stairs with a sweeping rustle of skirts and petticoats.

Leaving the priest and the scornful Garfield Logan behind her, Raven made her way up the staircase towards the room in which the dying slayer lay. She was unsure if he would desire her presence – in fact, she was rather sure he _wouldn't_.

But she felt that she owed him the truth, and so she had come to offer it to him.

She quietly pushed open the wooden door, peeping around it into the plain room. Yes, as the priest had said, there was the slayer; near senseless upon his pillow, his face ashen and his chest rising and falling quickly. He was flat on his back, the covers drawn right up under his arms; his jet hair tousled and disheveled, a shirt loosely buttoned over his chest. Beneath the white cotton she could see bandages wrapped around his torso. They were thick around his neck also; and yet blood still seeped through, beginning to patch upon the top layers. There was no way of stemming such a wound, and the slayer was slowly but surely bleeding to death. On top of that, he was black and blue almost all over from where had had been thrown around, and there was a long deep gash – accompanied by more bruising – where the thing that had been her stepfather had caught him in the face with its wing.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. He offered no acknowledgement of her presence in the room; she went to the chair that was sitting beside the bed – presumably where perhaps Cyborg or Beast Boy had sat by the slayer's side earlier that day – and sat down, slipping off her frock coat to reveal the dress of deep wine velvet she was wearing.

There was a basin of cold water on the small table next to the bed, with a white cloth floating in it.

Perhaps it was far from her place to do so; but Raven reached for it, wringing it out a little and placing it on the slayer's forehead to both soothe and awaken him.

His eyes opened a little and with a small groan he turned his face towards her.

"You…" he said softly.

"Yes." Raven averted her violet eyes. "I… You desire me to leave?"

Robin looked at the ceiling.

"No. It does not… matter now."

His gaze came back to her again and he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. He gave a little gasp as the effort stirred the wounds on his throat; a fresh flower visibly blotched against the white gauze.

"Sir, lie down, please!" Raven half-jumped out of her chair.

"I want… to sit up… so I can see you…" the slayer panted.

Raven hesitated, then reached out and propped up his pillow so he could rest against it.

"Thankyou…" He put a hand to his neck and grimaced when it came back blotched with that slick crimson liquid.

"You require new bandages?" Raven asked tentatively.

"These will do. For sure I cannot… have long left to go now anyhow…"

Raven gazed at him sorrowfully.

"I am truly sorry for the suffering I have caused you," she said softly, sitting down again.

"Nothing can… be done now." He eyed her suspiciously. "What business… have you here?"

"I come to offer you the truth of this matter," Raven replied quietly. "If you desire to hear it, that is, sir."

He gave a little nod.

"I would… very much like to hear… your reasoning for all of this…" He wiped his own forehead with the cloth for a moment or two. "It is obvious to me now… that you were protecting your stepfather… But the books, and the shape-changing…?"

Raven clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them.

"Sir, I am in part responsible for the murders my stepfather committed, for I went out of my way to prevent you from discovering that it was him. I knew it was wrong, and I wept for my deeds whenever I read of a new murder, but I simply could not bear the thought of him being slain. I loved him so very much, and he was all I had. Twice I took it upon myself to do the slaying – I whittled myself a stake and crept to his chamber as he slumbered, with the intent of driving it through his heart and ending it all, but when I looked upon him, I simply could not do it…" Raven put her face in her hands. "Forgive me my selfishness, sir, but I just could not. I grew affrighted, and could not motion my hand downwards, no matter how I told myself that I _must_."

"This was… before I arrived… in Gotham?"

"Yes." Raven nodded in affirmation. "I sensed your presence when you arrived in our city. I knew your intent. So I set out to stop you. As much as I knew you had only the best interests of this city at heart, it angered me that you had simply arrived out of the mist beyond Gotham in a bid to slay my stepfather. It seemed to me as though it was of no business of yours."

"You… _sensed_ me?" The slayer blinked at her.

"Sir, that I shall come to." She sighed deeply. "To lay the whole truth before you, it seems I shall first have to speak of my mother. And before I do _that_…"

Raven stood up, offering herself in full view to the slayer; petite and slender, with dark violet eyes, icy-pale skin, short, sharply-cropped hair, in a figure-accentuating gown of wine-colored velvet.

"I am no normal human being," she said quietly. "I am, in many ways, as much of a monster as any of those you have slain. I can do things that no normal human is capable of. Some of these abilities you have seen – my ability to "transform" into a bird-shaped entity and move myself from place to place by way of levitation and teleportation. As I mentioned before, and as you questioned, I have also the gift of sensing things – pain, emotion, aura, purpose. As soon as you reached this city, I picked up on your unique aura, sir, and learned of your reasoning for being here. That is why I approached you in the library wing – I already knew who and _what_ you were by that point."

"And how have… you such gifts?"

"My mother." Raven gave another deep sigh, sinking back into her seat. "Her name was Angela Roth. She was born in 1812, but that is only one of two things I know of her past. I know nothing of who my grandparents were, nor of her home. The only other thing I know of her is that she ran away from her home when she was seventeen and joined a group of people interested in witchcraft and the occult. From what I remember of my mother, she was a good soul – I can only assume that it was naïveté that drew her to those people, not a true desire within herself to participate in such unholy practices. One night they managed to call forth a demon by the name of Trigon, using my mother as an offering. This terrible being raped my mother, impregnating her… with _me_."

Robin stared at her; wondering whether or not to go for his stake.

"You are… the daughter of a _demon_?"

Raven nodded her head slightly.

"It is a fact that gives me no delight, sir, believe me. But it is from my true father that I inherited the inhuman abilities which I possess."

"What of your mother?"

"She fled that night. I know nothing of what she did for those nine moths she carried me – most probably she lived on the streets or in a poor house. But she told me, and distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December of 1829, when I born to her. Again, when I was baby, I know nothing of what she did, where she dwelled. It can be assumed that, before I have any recollection, she met Bruce Wayne, for she was wed to him for as long as I can ever remember."

"Then tuberculosis… stole her from you?"

To the slayer's surprise, Raven shook her head.

"That is but the story we promote, so as not to disgrace her. The truth is that my mother killed herself some five years ago. The trauma of the demonic rape upon her being had always tortured her; at times I remember her awaking and stumbling through the manor in the dead of night, wild-eyed and shaking. At times she would scream for seemingly no purpose. She frightened me when she went into one of these states – even my stepfather could do nothing with her. She was a loving and caring mother and wife, but she was deeply disturbed. One day, five years ago, I went out with my stepfather; upon our return, we found my mother in the drawing room with both her wrists cut. She had done it with my stepfather's letter opener."

Robin gazed at her sadly.

"I am… sorry…"

Raven gave a little shrug.

"I am only thankful that she is at last at peace."

"Your stepfather… Bruce Wayne… How was it that he was…?"

"A vampire?" Raven gave a bitter little smile. "You already have half the answer yourself, slayer. Last night, you spoke of Professor Jonathan Crane. I suppose I must tell you of him as well, if you are to understand all I have to say. Two years ago, he came into my stepfather's employ. He was a psychologist specializing in the study of fear, but he was gifted in the psychoanalysis of the human mind overall. His research was invaluable to my father's company, Wayne Enterprises, and its goals. However, Crane used to engineer side projects that neither my stepfather nor any of his employed supervisors had given permission for. He was also credited for attempting to steal the research of other employees within the company. Eventually my father had him fired under two circumstances; for illegally creating a gas that attacked the nervous system, which Crane himself called his "Fear Gas", and for allegedly stealing a research journal from Dr Kirk Langstrom, another scientist in my father's employ."

"_Langstrom_…" Robin breathed.

"The name is familiar to you?"

"Yes." Robin nodded, grimacing at the pain it caused his neck. "Please tell me… of him…"

"It was never proven that Crane stole from Langstrom. After Crane was dismissed, he set up in private offices in the west of Gotham. He was allowed to take his research with him, except for his two journals of research on fear, which my stepfather took from him. I myself often visited Wayne Enterprises, and knew many of the staff there. My stepfather did not mind, as far as I did not distract his employees. I knew Dr Langstrom particularly well, and found his research fascinating. He studied mammals and their behavior, creating serums and cures from them. His own particular interest was bats – he had written a research paper on them and their dynamics, as well as research journal on a chemical study of them and a serum he had discovered. It was these two items he elicited that Crane had stolen from him, but they were not found in his possession when his laboratory was ransacked prior to his dismissal, so he could not be accused of such a thing."

"_Bats_…" Robin hissed in pain as he struggled to sit up straighter. "Langstrom… bats… And your stepfather…"

"I know. _Shh_." Raven paused in her narrative to mop at the dying slayer's brow with the cloth. "I shall leave nothing unclear to you."

She took the cloth away and put it back in the basin.

"One day, around six months or so ago," she started again softly, "Dr Langstrom asked me if I might do a favor for him. When I inquired what this favor was, he requested that I might deliver a letter to Professor Crane, if I had the time. I could see Dr Langstrom was busy with his research, and the weather was dry and mild, so I agreed to take the letter for him. Langstrom gave me the address of Crane's office and I set out by cab across the city. Upon reaching the offices, I ascended the staircase to Crane's particular office and knocked. He did not seem pleased to see me, but allowed me in. He took the letter from me and read it; I waited, in case he should have liked to send a reply to Langstrom. Instead, as he read, I saw his face first drain of colour, then grow an intense angry red. He swung into a terrible rage, tearing the letter up and cursing such unholy profanities unlike I have ever heard. I was affrighted, and tried to leave, but he came upon me, sir, and threw me to the ground. I knew not why he was so angry, for Dr Langstrom never did seem the type to me to send letters that would anger a fellow; nor did I know why he seemed to be taking his anger out upon _me_…"

The girl trailed off, looking at the floor silently.

"_Raven_…" Robin groaned and reached out a shaking hand, placing it on top of hers. "What did he… _do_ to you?"

Raven was silent for a few moments more. Then;

"_The same thing my father did to my mother_."

Robin blinked at her.

"He… _raped_ you?"

Raven nodded shakily.

"I know not why he did it, for he seemed in no way attracted to me. He was so angry, and I suppose I seemed so vulnerable to him at that point, I was a channel for him to take his anger out upon."

"Why… did you not… employ this bird-shape… of yours and escape?"

"My "powers", if that is what you would call them, are governed by my emotions. I was much too frightened then to do anything, even scream. I could do nothing against him." The girl gave a little shiver. "He hurt me unspeakably, but it did not last long. When he finally left me be, and I tried to recover, he went to a place beneath the floorboards and took up a small red journal. He showed it to me, with a laugh that was both eerie and villainous, my good sir; and then he lit up the lamp upon his desk and held the journal over it, setting fire to it. He threw it upon the floor and stamped it to ashes, and then he looked up at me and said – and again, so distinctly I remember – "That is my reply to Mr Langstrom". I simply got up from the floor and fled the offices."

"Returned you to… your stepfather's company? To Langstrom?"

Raven shook her head.

"No, I could not face it. I was much too afraid and upset. I returned home and was stricken by an ill feeling all evening. My stepfather was concerned, but I dared not tell him what had happened. For days I remained the same, and I grew more and more fearful that that evil man had perhaps put me with child. Some three days later, our butler, Alfred, found me weeping upon my bed. He told me that both he and my stepfather were deeply concerned about me, and urged me to confide in him. Eventually, out of fear that I might be with child, I told him; but begged him not to tell my stepfather. In return, I saw Alfred's face grow grave, and he was able to exchange with me his own piece of distressing news…"

"Which was…?" Robin leaned forward a little, wincing against the pain in his throat.

"That two morns previous, Dr Kirk Langstrom had been found dead in his laboratory at Wayne Enterprises. He had clearly been murdered, and my stepfather, Alfred said, was certain that Crane was behind it, for the man appeared to have been quite literally "frightened to death"; such was a characteristic of exposure to the most extreme and pure form of Crane's Fear Gas. The time frame fitted that he had murdered Langstrom the same night he raped me – clearly his anger at whatever Langstrom had written had not been quelled by his evil deed committed upon me. Still, again I begged Alfred not to tell my stepfather; and although he promised he would not, I knew it was a promise he would not keep. Indeed, he did tell my stepfather as soon as I had departed for bed. I heard his angered cry, just as I heard his hurried footfalls ascending the staircase to my chamber. He did not knock, merely burst in upon me, and demanded to know if Alfred's words were the truth. I could not speak, but there was no reason for me to; he knew as soon as he looked upon my face, and he cried aloud in anguish and fury. Then he ordered me to stay where I was, and left my room in a hurry. I followed him from the room in time to see him reach the hall and throw on his frock coat; then he banged from the house, and I sensed within him a murderous intent. He felt deep pain and horror that Crane had murdered a close friend and excellent employee, and then committed such unholy sin against his stepdaughter, and felt that the only way to deal justice was to _take_ such justice into his own hands. As much as I felt that Crane deserved the punishment my stepfather was about to deal to him, I could not allow him to commit such a grievous sin, for I knew he would be convicted and imprisoned for his deed; so I too took matters into my own hands and enwrapped myself in what I have taken to calling my "Soul Self" – that is the bird-shaped form I can take that you have witnessed – and followed his aura."

"And to where… did this quest of yours… take you?" Robin prompted, urging Raven on with her story.

"Back to Crane's office; it seemed the man had not yet left for the night. When I made my entrance, my stepfather was advancing upon Crane, who was cowering against his desk. I noticed in the professor's hand a needle, but I took little notice of it, as did my stepfather. Instead my attention was focused upon pleading with my stepfather to come to his senses. Such was his rage, sir, that he ignored me, pushing me aside; perhaps he had a streak of vigilante within him, but he rushed for Crane, and although I tried to hold him back, my efforts were in vain. He leapt upon the man and began to beat him with his fists, and my stepfather was a very fit and strong man. I screamed, terrified he would kill Crane, and again tried to pull him away, if only to spare _himself_ more than Crane. Suddenly he reeled back with a cry of pain; and it was not my efforts that had caused this outburst. My stepfather staggered back away from the professor, and as he did so, I saw within his vein the needle I had so casually disregarded. I ran to him and extracted it; but I was already too late. My stepfather began to convulse and to cry out in pain, clutching at his own body as though taken by a seizure. I demanded to know what Crane had done to him, and the man laughed. He explained, as my poor stepfather dropped to his knees and began to groan and writhe upon the floor, that Dr Langstrom had devised a serum that could combine human DNA with that of a bat; the formula for which Crane had indeed stolen. However, Crane had been researching into the very symbols of fear, and human terror of supernatural killers, and amplified the serum he created from Langstrom's notes to convey the characteristics of a vampiric being, using the DNA from a vampire he had managed to catch. He told me that he had planned to take prostitutes off the streets to experiment with his modified serum upon; and to wreak terror and mayhem with, should it work. He would set these vampiric bat-girls upon the city and record the results of their reign of fear. He had been experimenting with the serum when my stepfather had burst in, and had in fact not meant for the needle to go into his vein within their struggle."

"Surely that… could not have been… a good thing?"

Raven shook her head.

"It was not. As Crane's words died away, my stepfather began to utter the most unholy sound, and as I looked back upon him, I saw that the most horrific thing was happening to him. He was transforming, his shape twisted and growing. He became inhuman and bigger, fur began the break through his skin, leather-like wings tore from his inner arms… And all the while he screamed in unbearable agony. I wished to go to him, but I was so terrified I remained rooted to the spot. Crane had, of course, taken preliminary precautions in case one of his planned experiments should go awry; he took from within his desk a large wooden stake, for he knew the beast would surely turn upon him once the transformation was complete. He advanced upon my stepfather; but suddenly my ability of movement returned to me, and I threw myself into him, by way of interrupting his intent. By the time Crane had righted himself, my stepfather was my stepfather no longer; but this terrifying _bat-man_. Crane raised his stake, but the beast knocked it away with its wing, then descended upon him. I knew I could do nothing to stop him, but neither could I watch as what had been my stepfather literally tore the man to pieces."

"When I…" Robin winced, stopping short; then forced himself to continue. "When I ventured out… to the offices of Crane… the fellow I spoke to, from… the office of Mumbo's… Magician Supplies… said that Crane had been… _poisoned_…"

Raven gave a little sigh.

"The authorities covered it up. What they truly _did_ find, I am sure, were the mere _remains_ of the good professor. My stepfather, in form of this horrendous creature, near ate him alive. By the time he had finished ravaging him, the floor was bloodstained, as was the furniture; but of the man himself, there was very little left."

"Turned he not… upon _you_?"

Raven shook her head.

"I dared not flee, for I knew I could not allow him to leave that office and kill someone else, but I feared greatly for my own life. But the serum seemed not to last long, for soon after leaving Crane's corpse, the creature collapsed upon the floor, out cold. Within moments, my stepfather lay in its stead, naked and covered in Crane's blood. I knew I could not leave him there, so I enwrapped the both of us within my Soul Self and returned us home."

"So Crane _was_… at least in part… responsible for this…"

Raven nodded.

"It is purely because of Crane that my stepfather became this beast. However, I thought the transformation to be but a one-off incident, for that particular occurrence happened close to six months ago, as I said before, and in the following months, my stepfather never transformed again."

"Your stepfather… had no recollection… of his murderous deed?"

"No," Raven replied. "He remembered not a thing, and was shocked when the papers reported that the man had been poisoned."

"Then… these Raven Murders…?"

"The only conclusion that I have come to, sir – and this seems most plausible to me – is that the serum, or at least traces of it, remained within my stepfather's system, unaffecting to him; until something happened within him that mutated it and it took ahold of him, turning into the "curse" which he carried these past two months."

"Have you… any idea what might have… mutated the serum's components?" Robin asked, sliding down his pillow a little.

"Nothing scientific, and truthfully… My only guess is that it was affected by an illness he took roughly around two months ago."

"What was… this illness?"

"But a mild bout of heat sickness, at the end of August. It had cleared up within the week, and was not serious, but it is the only straw I can grasp at when questioning what it was that caused the transformation within my stepfather's biology."

Robin nodded in agreement, mopping at his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. Raven wordlessly picked up the wet cloth again and handed it to him. He pressed it to his hot forehead as she continued;

"After his recovery from his illness, all seemed normal again until the Gotham Gazette reported that the murder of a young girl had taken place in the woods outside of Gotham, and the notes on the murder were said to be of an almost-vampiric nature. Immediately, upon reading it, I thought of my stepfather, but I had not noticed an absence on his part the previous evening, and besides, it was my belief that the effect of the serum Crane had injected him with had worn off. The murder case went quiet, as no others were committed; until three weeks later, when another girl was found. I still thought little of it, until Alfred approached me in confidence and asked me if I knew if my stepfather had hurt himself of late. My answer was one of puzzlement, and he brought me upstairs to my stepfather's bedchamber. Alfred had been in the process of changing his sheets when he had discovered bloodstains upon them. Although I was shocked and very worried, for again I began to suspect him, I answered that I knew nothing of any wound upon my stepfather's person, nor had I noticed him advertising the fact that he might be in any sort of pain. I lingered while Alfred changed the sheets and went about his other duties around the house, then began my search of the room. When I came to the window, my heart sank; because for sure then I knew that this vampiric killer was indeed him. There were signs that the catch had been forced, although not broken, and a few further more bloodstains were upon the sill."

"Spoke you… with him?"

"Oh, sir, what could I have said to him?" Raven asked, her voice a little sour. "No, I did not confront him about it, for I knew it was most likely that he would not even _remember_ these murderous ventures, if the monstrous fits were anything like the first. Instead I took it upon myself to monitor his "nightly activities", lying awake long after he had departed to bed and focusing upon his aura, to sense any change or movement. For a further two weeks, nothing came of this practice. My stepfather did not move from his chamber until morning, nor did he transform into the bat-man creature. I would have begun to doubt his involvement with the murders, except for the fact that no further killings took place during this time either. Therefore I had no proof to myself that it was _not_ him."

"I presume… he proved you correct… at some point?" Robin panted, struggling to sit up again from where he almost slipped back to a reclining position.

"Sir… Robin, _please_…" Raven leaned over and adjusted his pillow properly, then pushed him down. "Lie down; you are doing your injuries no service…"

"Do not worry… yourself about me…" Robin weakly batted at her. "Please… continue with your… tale…"

"Very well." Raven gave a huffy little sigh and sat back again. "Yes, he did indeed prove me correct; a little over two weeks ago, I noticed stirring within my stepfather's aura one night. Instantly alerted, I rushed to his chamber, whereupon I was once again forced to bear witness to his hideous transformation into the bat-man. It seemed all the more painful for him, and I wept as I watched him become the creature, for I could do nothing for him. When at last his transformation was complete, he fled through the window and took flight. Employing my Soul Self, I went after him, hoping I might be able to prevent him from committing another ghastly murder. Alas, I was too late, and he took the life of a workhouse girl the papers later named, by default, "Argent". I have no idea as to why they chose such a name. He drank her blood then swiftly departed; but I, within my Soul Self, lingered still, until someone came by and discovered the girl's body upon the street. Looking up, the man saw me – or rather, the black raven-shaped form I had taken."

"Then the name… comes from _you_…" Robin realized.

Raven nodded.

"Thus was the beginning of the "Raven Murders", as the newspapers entitled them. Anyone who saw the so-called "Raven Murderer" saw either me, in following my stepfather always just a few seconds too late, or saw the bat-man himself and mistook it for a raven of giant proportion. It began to happen every night following that one, and so every night he took another victim to satisfy his hunger."

"Know you of the… reason why all your… stepfather's victims… were female?" Robin asked her through gritted teeth. "And why also… he never attacked… _you_?"

"I could not tell you the reason _why_ it was so, sir, but upon some research of my own within Dr Usher's case notes upon each of the murders, I discovered that each of his victims had been _virgins_. That would account for the age-group similarities. I have no idea why this was so – I can only assume it was a characteristic of his serum-fuelled transformations, that led him towards young female virginal victims."

"Oh…" Robin frowned at her, realizing… "But _you_…"

"I am not a virgin," Raven whispered. "Crane raped me, taking it from me, which started this entire macabre business. In a way, however, I suppose it protected me from my stepfather's murderous vampiric rampages."

"But wait… that does not… _Lenore_ was not…" Robin struggled to sit up again. "When the beast… attacked her the first time… she was a virgin… but last night… she was no longer… and yet he still…"

Raven blinked at him, silent for a while.

"I will not ask you what kind of societal sin you have committed then, sir," she said finally, "but if you must know, the other girl he murdered, dubbed as "Jinx", was not a virgin either. She was a prostitute. As the stretch of these consecutive murders had worn on, my stepfather's "bat-man alter-ego" became more and more murderous. He abandoned his thirst of virgin blood and began to drink that of any girl, and then further still…"

She paused for a moment, then quickly gestured to the slayer's throat.

"…Anyone's at all," she said quietly. "The truth is, sir, at the beginning of these murders, the likes of _you_ were not his taste. You are the first male he had ever attacked, aside from Crane; but with Crane, it was murderous vengeance he wanted, for he did not drink from him, merely tore him to pieces and partially ate him. You I can only assume he did not attempt to do the same to as he had done to Crane…"

Robin shook his head.

"No, he… fed off me… Or _began_ to… anyway…"

"I shall assume by your earlier words in regard to Miss Usher that you yourself are no longer a virgin?" Raven asked after another tentative pause.

Again the slayer shook his head; he no longer had enough blood in his body to constitute much of a blush.

"No… she and I… we should not have… but we…"

Raven gave a curt little nod.

"I see. Then you were most certainly not his taste, at least not at the beginning of these murders. A male non-virgin, I mean to say. But the serum seemed to be taking over him more and more the more murders he committed and the more blood he drank in his vampire form. By the end, I am of the belief… that he merely wanted _blood_, no matter where he got it from. First he drank from Lenore Usher, and then from _you_, and further still, just before you drove that stake into him…"

"…He went… for _you_…" Robin finished.

"Indeed. If you had not pushed me aside…"

"There are still… things I do not… understand." Robin wiped fiercely at his hot forehead with the cloth; the bandages at his torn throat had completely soaked through now, and a little blood trickled down over his collarbone and onto his chest, seeping into the bandages there. "The journals… upon your desk… And the night your stepfather… first attacked Lenore… I injured him upon… my stake, and yet… when we spoke with him in his study… the following day… he showed no sign of any injury…"

"The journals." Raven sighed. "I had previously taken them from the library, before the Raven Murders began, hoping against dearest hope that there might be some indication of a reversal serum that I might concoct myself. My stepfather, in his unrecollecting human state, found them in my room, and was sorely angry at me, saying they were unfit for my reading. He put them back and forbade me to touch them again, threatening to punish me severely if he found me reading them once more. After that I began to sneak down when he was at work, reading a little at a time, but I simply could not get enough information at a time. When you came to Gotham and I found you taking your information from the news archive, I knew I had to cut off your information supply, lest you should track down my stepfather and slay him before I had a chance to perhaps discover a cure for him. That night, after my stepfather had taken the life of Jinx, he went into the news archive instead of straight back to the house. I know not why he did this, but since he was carrying the heart of the girl he had just killed, I assumed he was going to hide it somewhere, in bat-like characterism. Indeed, he did drop it on the floor in there; and I thought that I could use the bloody trail he had left my advantage. I ransacked the archive myself, destroying any information you could have used, and taking the two journals back in the process. I hoped that it would lead you away upon the trail of some obscure theory, while I was free once again to attempt to find a cure for my stepfather."

"Did you… find anything?"

Raven shook her head.

"I had always doubted there _was_ one, but I hoped to find one anyhow. I truly needed Langstrom's _own_ notes, but since Crane had disposed of them…"

"I do wonder… what Langstrom's letter… might have said," Robin mused laboriously.

"I have reason to believe that Langstrom knew – or, at the very least, had a reasonable guess – of what Crane was doing with the stolen research, with knowledge of what the professor himself specialized in. No doubt he threatened to expose him. That, I expect, would have angered and frightened Crane to the extent that he would have killed Langstrom to silence him."

Robin nodded thoughtfully.

"Then your stepfather… was a merely another victim here…"

"Yes." Raven uttered a little sigh. "He did not do these things out of a wicked heart. But the serum was beginning to take greater and greater hold upon him, so perhaps it is even a _mercy_ that you ended it when you did. If allowed to survive, he might have… become the beast full-time. I truly wished to find a reversal serum for him, but who is to know? Perhaps it was not even _possible_ to concoct one."

"I am… _sorry_…" Again the slayer reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing his fingers reassuringly.

"Do not be. While you may have taken my stepfather from me, you have probably saved the lives of countless other girls. A lesser of two evils, I believe, sir. And I suppose, if not _you_… No doubt _someone_ would have got him eventually. Perhaps even the good Father Stone downstairs…"

"Why _came_ you here… last night?"

"I had sensed that you were about to venture out in pursuit of the beast, and came to plead with you. As it happened, my words meant nothing to you…"

"Beast Boy said that… he had seen you coming from… the pharmacy."

"My stepfather often took bad headaches, no doubt further effects of the serum within him. I had gone to pick up a remedy for him."

"What of… his _other_ injury…? The one that… I inflicted upon… him?"

"Crane had engineered the serum to have a self-healing property against anything unblessed, unless a stake thrust directly through the heart. You will notice that the blessed stakes from your crossbow you fired into him damaged him – that was because of the holy water. But the first stake you put into him was unblessed, and so the wound healed. He had no recollection of it, of course."

"That is not… a trait normal… in vampiric beings…"

"I know. Crane spoke of this "new feature" in his journals."

"Then what did he—?"

The slayer was cut off by a sudden bout of coughing, wracking his body and forcing him to sit up. It was not as extreme as previous attacks, nor did it last as long; but at the end of it he was left with his hands covered in that viscous black substance and blood once again.

Surely there couldn't be much _left_ of him by now?…

Raven gazed at him wordlessly as he unfolded the cloth and used it to wipe his hands and mouth.

Then, as he reached shakily across and dropped it back into the basin;

"I have sensed terrible sickness within you." Her voice was soft, concerned. "From the moment the presence of your aura became apparent to me, I have sensed it. A horrendous sickness that _consumes_ you."

"Mm…" He near-groaned it as he lost the strength to sit up and collapsed back onto the bed. The coughing had further disturbed the wounds at his throat, so that they bled freely again even through the bandages.

He knew death to be coming upon him. Within the hour…

"You told me… of _your_ past…" He struggled to turn his face to her again. "I will tell… you… of mine… Why I am… _this_…"

Raven nodded to show she was listening to him – his voice was very quiet now; labored, weak, interspersed with gasps for breath.

"This… _sickness_… It is no… medical illness. It is a… _curse_… placed upon me… by the murderers of… my parents…"

"Your parents were _murdered_?" Raven whispered.

Robin gave a tiny nod.

"They were… circus performers in a… traveling circus. We toured all across… America, and never lived… in one place for… very long. They taught me… a few techniques, but I was… never part of their act. In 1837, when I was… eight years old… we traveled to Europe to tour there. For the most part… I enjoyed all the places… that we went to, but we came… to this one small town, rather… backward for its time, in Eastern… Europe. I remember that… I did not like it. It gave… me a bad feeling… about it. But no-one took… any notice of me… when I told them so. We had… three performances there, and the… first two… ran smoothly. But upon the third night… as we reached almost the end… of the performance… a great number of the audience stood up… and suddenly transformed into winged demonic… beings, which descended upon near every… single other person there, killing them. My parents were thrown… from their trapeze to the ground. These creatures… were truly horrendous… vampiric in their disguise… but perhaps even _more_… despicable in their nature. They spared few, chasing most of those… who tried to run. I myself… was too scared to run… for I was backstage, concealed from the creatures… but not entirely safe… from them. Upon the ending… of their murderous assault… they transformed back to their… human states. I counted seventeen of them… in total, a greater number… of men than women. I believe that only five of their… number were female."

"What were they?" Raven asked in a hushed voice.

"To this day, I am… still uncertain. Demons, certainly, but… I know not… what they _truly_ were. I have not… encountered anything like them… since that terrible night…" The slayer gave a pained little sigh, wincing, before continuing; "They were most certainly… a breed apart; inhuman, even in "human" form. They all wore flowing garments, and had pale… skin, and were all… exceedingly _unnatural_ in their… visage. Seeing them there, it was… questionable how no-one had picked… them out. But amongst the crowd… that had been there before, they… had gone unnoticed. I hid there, hoping… that they would leave, but it seemed… that they could detect humans. They sought another few… who had hidden, killing them… and I was sure… that _I_ was to die too."

"They found you?"

Robin gave a pained little nod.

"One of the… females. She dragged me… from my hiding place, and I truly believed … that she would kill me there and then. But… she only laughed, and brought me… back out to the others. I believe she was one of the… leaders of the group. I learned not… any of their… other names, but she… _she_ introduced herself as "Madame Rouge". It seemed… fitting, for her garments were… this same scarlet, as… I recall. Collectively, she informed me… that the group of them was known… as the Brotherhood of Evil. A great many of them… judging by their accents, and Madame… Rouge included, were… of French nationality. I was but waiting… for them to devour me… as they had everyone else, but she… said that children were not worth… the bother of transforming. They began to chant then… I did not know what… they were saying; it was… in a language I could not… understand."

"French?"

"Perhaps. I was… too afraid to truly… listen. Their eyes seemed… to glow and somewhere in me… I knew they were doing something… to me… _Enchanting_ me. I felt _different_… inside. I do not know whether it… was fear, or what they were… doing to me, but I passed out. I awoke again the next… morning, when the remaining people… from the village came to find the remains… of their dead. I was the only… one who had survived the… attack. A woman took me home with her, but… I could not communicate with her, for… the language she spoke was not English. I could understand… nothing she said to me, and nor she… in respect to myself. She recognized… the language as English… however, and brought me to the docks to put me on a ship. I thought that it… would take me back to… America, but instead she must have… assumed that I was from England, for… it was there… that I was taken. It was upon that… ship journey that I took the first… of my coughing fits. I was deeply afraid… but did not connect it with… the "spell" which had been cast upon my being. I thought it… merely a sickness and told no-one, hoping… it would go away. At that time… the fits were infrequent… and mild. Upon my arrival in England, late… in the year of 1837… their queen, Victoria, had… not been on the throne… even a year…"

The slayer paused a second to draw his rattling breath; the volume of his speech was fast draining the energy from him, and his companion could see it.

"Robin, please… all this talk is sapping the very life from you…" Raven reached across and very gently put her fingers to his mouth, as though to quieten him.

He shook her away.

"It is the bleeding that is… doing that for me… Miss Roth, I… assure you…" He uttered a little groan but was defiant, for now, against the fact that he was dying. "Please… I wish to tell you… and I will… not live to see… the morrow, regardless of whether… I speak or not."

Raven removed her hand, feeling deep pity for him, but not voicing it, for she knew he did not want her pity.

"Very well," she said softly. "Continue, if it so pleases you. I shall listen."

"When I arrived… in England, I knew not where to go… for truly, I had no place there. I wandered the docks… until nightfall, whereupon I was approached by… a dockyard worker, who had noticed my wanderings… all the day long. I thought that… he meant to chase me off, but… instead he asked me where I was bound. I replied… that I knew not, for… I had never been to England before and… had not meant to come here. He recognized… my accent as being American… and said he knew somewhere I could go… for the time being. I believe… it was merely pity he felt for me, but he… took me by cab a large house across the town; upon knocking… he asked for a woman he referred to… as "Mother Mae-Eye". The servant… invited us in, and went to call her. When she… came, the man said that he had "another one… for her". I remember that she nodded and took me… away into the house. I never saw the man… who had taken me there… again, although… I am forever grateful… to him. Mother Mae-Eye herself… was a kind old woman, perhaps… smothering in her manner, for she spoke… of _love_ far too often… for it to be considered normal. Then again… I was to learn that she was… _not_ a normal old woman. She made… me take a hot bath almost… as soon as she had shut the door, but as… I undressed, I took another fit… of coughing. I brought up… more of this blackness than before, and… I expected her to throw me out again, thinking… me sickly. I recall her looking… upon me and simply murmuring… "You poor child". She did not… throw me out, simply made me bathe, which I felt… better for. When I came out… she gave me clean… sleeping garments to wear and some cocoa by… the fireside. There was… evidence that she had other… children in her home too – toys and clothes about… the floor, so I assumed that she took… in orphaned or abandoned children for… a time. As I sat there, she came beside… me and asked who had cast it upon… me. I knew not, at the… time, what she spoke of, and inquired… as such. She replied that the "Red Death" had… been placed upon me, that it… was a spell of demonic… proportion, and wished to know… how it had come upon me. I understood then… that my sickness… was the spell that the Brotherhood… of Evil had placed on my being, and told her… of the attack upon Haley's Circus… while touring in Europe. Her face grew grave, and although… I begged her to tell me what they had… done to me, she would not. She merely… said, unto herself, I believe… that the Brotherhood were still roaming… and should not have been allowed to do so. I pressed… that I wanted vengeance against them… for the murder of my parents… and for my own sickness, and she replied… that she knew of someone who could help me, back… in America, for she too recognized my accent."

"She sent you back here, I presume?"

Robin nodded weakly.

"I stayed with her for… a week, until a ship departing… to America came into the dock. She gave me… a handful of coins and two enveloped… letters, which she said… I was not to open. The first… along with the coins, I was to… give to the first cab driver I could find… upon my arrival back in America. He would then take me… to an address written within that letter. The second… I was to give to the recipient of that address, upon… my arrival at their residence. I knew not… to whom Mother Mae-Eye… was sending me, but she replied, when… I inquired this, that it… was an old-time friend of hers, who had… since departed to America, and who… would be of more help to me… than herself. I thanked her… for her kindness and departed upon… the ship. It was a long journey to… America, and upon that journey, I was attacked by… this "red death" many more times. Upon… my arrival in America, I did as she had… instructed, and found myself at… the residence of the woman who was to become… my teacher. She still lives… a little beyond Metropolis, a past… slayer, with origin of an Oriental nature. She… had known Mother Mae-Eye in her… youth, and still kept… frequent contact with her. I still… knew not what Mae-Eye's letter to her… had said, but she told me to refer to her… simply as the "True Master", and informed… me that she would train me… to seek my vengeance… on the kind that had… destroyed my life. I presumed… that Mae-Eye had informed her… of my sad circumstance, in addition… to details of my "curse", placed upon me… by the Brotherhood of Evil, for whenever I took a coughing… fit, she never once questioned what… sickness I had."

"Did she know what it was that they had truly cast upon you?"

"Yes, and at… this point, so do _I_. I did… also plead with _her_… to tell me, but she would not. Instead… she trained me mercilessly to fight… using an Oriental form of combat, as well… as the various ways of dealing with… different supernatural creatures. It took her… a total of two years… to ready me for setting out on my quest alone… and it was the most difficult… two years of my life. During that time… I asked her of… the Brotherhood of Evil, and she explained… that little was known of them, other than that… they were a group of European demonic beings… most frequently seen in France. It was believed that any… kind of "headquarters" they might have had… was in Paris, for they frequently… attacked the city. They had killed… a vast number of people, and many slayers… that had pursued them. A few of their… number had been killed by slayers, but… for the most part, they remained… most notorious and at large. Using this… scant information she had given me… I researched using her books, when… she was out of the house, upon… European demonic beings and… subsequent curses and spells. I quickly found… the "Red Death" and…"

He went silent for a moment.

"You do not have to tell me of it if you do not wish to, sir," Raven told him softly.

"It is… _a most foul affliction_," Robin whispered in reply. "Truly the… most macabre I have ever… come across. _This_…" He smacked his hand at a few drops of black that had gone onto the white covers during his latest and last fit. "This _blackness_… it is _me_. It is… my innards."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Raven blinked at him, aghast.

Robin gave a little nod.

"The "Red Death" curse… it is known to… that is… It _rots_ a person… from the inside. What I have… coughed up, the blackness… It is the rotted matter… that used to be a _part_ of me. It is a… slow process, at times worsening… then declining again. Recently… blood has started to accompany… the fits, in addition to… vomiting. I surely could… not have had long left… to live anyhow… Eight years and… counting I have lived… like this, _rotting_ slowly on the… inside. Another… few months… and surely I would have been… upon my death bed… anyhow. But please… if you would tell Cyborg… that is why I have eaten… so little… There is so _little_… of me left within… I cannot keep food down… for very long… anymore."

Raven was gazing at him, speechless.

"How…" She finally found her voice; but it was barely there, so deeply ran her shock and horror. "How have you been able to _live_ with such despair?"

"Do not… think that I did not… _weep_ when I discovered… what was afflicting me. To know I was carrying a curse… that would eventually _kill_ me, for… there is no cure. I was but nine years old. My teacher… did not catch me… looking at her books… but I suspect she knew… that I had discovered what… the "red death" truly was… for I do believe… I have never been the same… since that day."

"_I am so sorry_," Raven whispered.

"Do… not be. The fault… rests not with… _you_."

"Did you… did you ever exact your revenge upon this Brotherhood?"

Robin gave a weak shake of his head.

"No. Upon taking… my leave of the True… Master, I traveled to… Japan, where she had… already implored for me… to go, to help… a demon slayer by the name… of Bushido, tackle a… ninjutsu-affecting vampire that was… terrorizing the city of… Tokyo. She called it… my "training mission", and gave to… me, upon my departure, the… crossbow which… last night I used… upon your stepfather. Bushido and… I dealt with the… vampire, and tackled another… creature attacking the city, named… Brushogun. On my… leaving of Japan, after… brief-but-heated conflict with one… Commander Uehara… Daizo, I traveled back through… the Orient by steamtrain, and then on… through Europe by these same… means. During that time… I searched for the Brotherhood of Evil, hoping… to slay any of their number… but I never once… even glimpsed them. Such was… their nature to appear… and disappear."

"You have never taken any kind of vengeance upon them?" Raven was strangely saddened by that.

"I have never… been presented with the… opportunity… to do so."

"I am deeply sorry for your sad circumstance, sir."

The dying slayer managed a little shrug of his shoulders.

"Nothing can… be done… to amend it. I am only… grateful that my life… since that day… has not been wasted in… mourning."

"No, that is true." Raven squeezed his fingers. "You have risen above what has been dealt to you to still better life for others. It is a noble thing, sir. You are a _hero_ in that sense."

He smiled weakly, barely awake by now.

"That is one… of the many names… placed upon my head… during my time… in this occupation." The smile faded. "It must… be said that… it was far less common… than "fool"…"

His eyes closed. The pain rampant in him was beginning to grow numb as his consciousness started to ascend above it; a deep, impenetrable darkness – encroaching, lulling, beckoning, seemed to draw further and further still around him, like a warm blanket. It was, at this point, not altogether unwelcome – the talking had all but taken every ounce of life from him, stealing his breath and disturbing his freely bleeding throat.

Cyborg had already performed the Last Rites for him, a little beyond sunrise, so that the room was bathed in orange and pink, like the morning light through the stained glass windows of the church itself.

Now the Eternal Sleep was washing over him; he saw, for the moment, no light at the end of any tunnel, only the darkness, and yet he wished not to turn from it. He wished now to pursue it, be lost in it. Perhaps he did not feel ready to leave this world quite yet; perhaps he was overall unhappy about doing so.

But clearly this world no longer had a place for him; and with that realization came acceptance.

With that acceptance came contentment.

And with that contentment came the _End_.

Raven Roth watched Richard Grayson – the slayer – intently as the rise and fall of his chest grew shallower and shallower; as he gave one last tiny shifting movement; and felt as his own fingers gave a tiny squeeze of hers.

Perhaps it had been his own doing; perhaps just a small spasm of muscles as the blessing of life finally left his cursed mortal shell; as his _soul_ fled said shell, perhaps to Heaven.

He took one final breath – and then breathed no more. He fell completely still; stark and wasted and bloody and disheveled and _beautiful_ against the white sheets and mattress.

A few tears welled in Raven's amethyst eyes, but she did not sob for him. She was sorrowed for his circumstance; but happy for his end. She looked at him – at the corpse of a sixteen year old boy, who had carried both a mantle and a curse, and was saddened by that fact.

And yet she was _happy_ too, because it was the first time she had seen him utterly at peace. Upon his face was neither smile nor frown; just an expression of almost… _comprehension_.

She was happy, because he had lived a cursed and unwholesome life.

She was happy, because finally he had _escaped_.

She leaned forward to kiss his forehead – for indeed, despite being the killer of her stepfather, she simply could not feel any hatred towards him.

Then she bent to pick up the journal she had left by his bedside. Handling it carefully, she looked across the small room towards the desk; upon it was a second book (his case file upon every beast he had ever slain and the details of the investigation leading up to said slayage), his crossbow, his "utility" belt, his wrist guards and his blessed cross, the chain broken but not irreparable.

He had worked for too much in his short life for it all to be thrown aside…

The door opened quietly; slightly.

Cyborg peered around it, Beast Boy a little behind him. The priest's voice was soft and grave;

"Still he is with us?"

Raven turned to them as they came into the room; and upon her face was something that was neither smile nor _sadness_.

Stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, quoth the Raven;

"_Nevermore_."

_**TT**_

Wow, I know, major blah-blah-blah from Robin and Raven there…

But… everything is finally explained! Hurrah!

Also, I thought it would be cool to leave Raven with her powers/heritage, even though everyone else was stripped of theirs with the _Elseworlds_ reformat.

Just the epilogue to go – and I am sure you can all see exactly where it is leading.

Before you do, four announcements:

One – One more final piece of art! Check it out on DeviantART via the link on my profile, but… look at it AFTER the epilogue! **AFTER**! Are we clear? It's of Raven, BTW…

Two – If you still haven't had a look at the wonderful trailer made by **Flying02fish** for _Nevarmore_, the link is available still on my profile. **Please** take a look-see if you have not done so already – it's great!

Three – Narroch and I made a club! Well, a forum type thingie. It's called _Avengers of the Abyss_ (taken from our DeviantART name) and you can get onto it by going onto my profile and clicking on "My Forums". We've got around 50 posts or something from a whole bunch of interesting people who are our "members" and have like 8 topics so far, discussing things like favourite characters, pairings, Season Six (or lack thereof) and whether or not RobinxSlade is a good/bad thing. So please come along if you get time and give your two cents – if you want to be a member you can subscribe to the forum and/or tell us a little about yourself in the "Our Members" section. We're basically all about getting _Teen Titans_ fans together to talk about the thing/s they love, so come along and tell everyone your thoughts!

And four – THANKYOU for reading/reviewing!

Enjoy the epilogue.

RobinRocks xXx


	16. The Journal of Raven Roth, a Slayer

_The Journal of Raven Roth, a Slayer_

_Wednesday 2nd December, 1846_

_My dearest Robin,_

_This is the first that I have written in your journal – indeed, only the page before this is your last entry, dated Tuesday 4th November, 1845._

_The day that you died._

_Over a year has passed since then, and so much has changed, I believe you would be very much astounded._

_I hope you do not mind my writing in your personal diary. It feels wrong for me to completely take over it and to write it as though it was my own; or as though I was **you**. And yet, I do not wish to start afresh with my own, for it is **your** legacy that I have taken up._

_So I will simply write it, addressing it to you yourself. Perhaps it is possible for you, beyond this life, to comprehend what I write in this._

_I often talk to you; I come to your graveside and sit and tell you of my training. It is soothing to me, for although I know whether or not you listen to me, deep beneath the earth and stone and wood, I know that what I speak of is something you can – or could – relate to._

_I am sitting at your grave now. I shall not stay long, for the December cold is harsh and bitter, but it felt right for me to write my first "letter" to you upon your monument._

_And perhaps I must recap again what this past year has brought._

_You have served as an inspiration to me. I confess, that upon the very **moment** that you fell still upon your deathbed, I had decided to take up your mantle. I knew that I could not leave your legend unfinished, and was willing myself to take your place._

_You may have murdered my stepfather, but I could not help but admire you._

_To me, you were a hero; and I wished to aspire to you._

_I wished to do what you had done; to walk the Night's Plutonian Shore._

_I hope you will forgive me for taking your journal and your casefile. For taking your weapons and your protective garments; your cross and your wrist guards. For taking your crossbow and for, indeed, sir, taking your very **life** as my own._

_I told the good Father Stone – who I too, this past year, have come to know as "Cyborg" – what I was to do, and although at first he protested and disapproved, he eventually became a great help to me._

_I shall speak of him, and young Garfield Logan, later. _

_As I have told you before, I ventured out to your trainer – the "True Master". I told her of your demise, and the ending to the tale of the Raven Murders. I showed her my special abilities, and implored that she train me as she had you. I expressed that I wished to take up the legend you had left behind._

_I had anticipated having problems with her, but she agreed to take me on and train me, as she had you. She taught me to use the weapons you had left; the crossbow and the stakes. She taught me the Oriental fighting style that she taught to you._

_She taught me, like you, to survive._

_And she taught me, like you, to **kill**._

_It took her just under a year to train me, as opposed to the two it had taken her to train **you**; but upon that subject, she had stated that it was not because I was of any higher skill than you, but simply because there is only so much you can teach a nine year old at a time._

_At the times when I found the training hard, I thought of you. I thought of how **young** you had been; and how **sick** you had been, and it pushed me on._

_You gave me strength._

_At this time, I am now, as you had been, a "slayer"._

_She has already arranged my "training mission" for me, and I depart to embark upon it on the morrow. I am being sent not to Japan, but to Europe._

_To Paris._

_I am to assist a magic-affecting slayer by the name of Rorek in his hunt for the Brotherhood of Evil. Indeed, they have struck again in that fair city, and I have heard that Rorek has traveled from England to pursue them. I am to aid him, and leave for France tomorrow by steam ship. _

_However, I am not to go alone._

_As I have said, much has changed within the city of Gotham._

_After the death of my stepfather was made known within the papers, Wayne Manor became a pursuit of interest. I was not old enough to inherit the property itself, and so the staff, including my dear friend Alfred, were dismissed and moved on. The library wing has been restored and remains open; however, the house itself has been shut off._

_I care little for it. It was too full of painful memories._

_I had inherited considerable wealth from my stepfather, however, and used a part of it to pay for renovations to the church and parish house of Father Stone. Both I and Garfield Logan have since moved in with him. _

_For you see, Robin, while your path of slayership was one you took alone, I have been joined upon mine; Cyborg, during my training with the True Master, trained Beast Boy in his **own** way._

_I suppose Beast Boy is now a hybrid of things; part-novice priest and part slayer himself. That is to say, the boy is no longer defenseless, as **you** knew him, sir. He has the training of neither Cyborg nor myself, but he reaches a halfway mark between us, and is invaluable to us because of it. He easily switches roles; we jokingly refer to him as something of a "shape-shifter" in this respect._

_We are three now; a team. Cyborg suggested the name the "Titans", after the creators in Greek mythology. I know not where this inspiration came from, but it is a name none of us rebel against. I myself rather like it. Beast Boy prefers to introduce us as the "**Teen** Titans", but I rather think the "teen" part disillusions us in some way._

_On the morrow, the three of us – we **Titans** – set sail for Paris._

_Perhaps you were never a "Titan" yourself, sir; but in a way, you are the **founder** of us. It was your mission – your quest to stop the Raven Murders that has brought us all together. Sometimes, while in high spirits, Cyborg will call you our "leader"._

_Perhaps he may even be right._

_As for the House of Usher, and the Ushers themselves…_

_I know I have told you of this, sitting at your grave, but I suppose I must write it all anyway._

_In another terrifying coincidence, not even three months after the burials of both Dr Roderick Usher and his daughter, the House of Usher itself suddenly imploded and collapsed upon itself, without any kind of warning. It too had been boarded up, and so thankfully no single person was even injured in the collapse, for it was empty; but indeed there was no indication beforehand of such an event._

_Upon further examination by experts in the aftermath of the collapse, it was discovered that the foundations of the house had been weak and built on ground that was not completely solid – it had always been inevitable that the house would collapse; it was simply a matter of time before it did so._

_As for the fair Lenore Usher, the girl – according to your journal – that you had fallen in love with, and referred to as "Starfire"…_

_Well, she lies no more than three feet from you. This you know – I have told you this too._

_Cyborg could not bury you with her and her father, for you were neither part of her family, nor her husband. It was improper for him to do so. But he placed your grave right next to hers, so that your stone monuments are no less than, as I said, three feet apart._

_He called it his "final gift" to you; he cited that if you could not be happy in life, it was the least he could do to at least try to make you happy in death._

_I hope you **are** happy, Robin; whether you can comprehend any of this or not._

_Robin and Starfire; perhaps a match made in Heaven._

_And perhaps a match **reunited** in Heaven._

_But I do know. I realize that this kind of life – the life that **you** led – does not allow time for romance._

_Sometimes I will catch Beast Boy sparing a glance at me – in the glow of the firelight, as he has been set books to pore over by Cyborg – and wonder if perhaps he feels a little something for me._

_I care for him deeply, but I do not feel that way towards him._

_And I know he loved Terra. He often speaks of her now, and there is pride in his voice._

_Still, I know he watches me. He looks at me; and yet I can see why that might be._

_I do wish you could see me now, Robin; if only so I could see the expression on your face._

_For I am not the girl I was a year ago; not a slight figure, pulled in and ribboned and laced and layered with petticoats. I no longer fit the traditional role of a girl my age, and so perhaps I can see why he gazes at me so._

_For it is true that he has perhaps never seen anything quite like me. _

_My hair has always grown quickly; and within a year it is no longer the short, cropped style **you** would have seen me with. It is long, almost to my waist through a desired neglect of cutting it. Long gone are those shaped dresses; impractical as they are. My everyday attire now consists of a style that is perhaps considered masculine in some sense; and in others, simply…_

…_**improper**._

_I wear pants. Boots with sheathes. Shirts coupled with corsets. Sometimes waistcoats._

_I am guilty once again of affecting your garments. The cross I wear at my throat is yours; as is the belt at my waist. It is slightly too large and sits askew upon my hips, but it is practical, for I have never come across another belt of the same design – with sheathes and pouches for weapons._

_I kept your coat also; a few of your shirts. They are practical for my purpose now, and such garments are not tailored for women, for women to do not typically blaze this path. It was Cyborg's suggestion that I kept some of your shirts, but the coat was my own idea. I could not bear the thought of him disposing of it._

_It is silly and affected to think this way, but when I wear it, it feels slightly as though **you** are protecting to me. This brings me comfort in the fray, for you were far more experienced than I at this._

_You had far more of a **reason**._

_It grows dark; and colder still. I hear Cyborg call out to me from the parish house to return inside._

_We have an early start on the morrow._

_Believe me, this Brotherhood of Evil shall pay._

_They **created** you, in a sense; but they **destroyed** you also, and I, in your place, shall seek your revenge._

_When I, in the fashion of a thousand slayers before me, including yourself, drive my stake through their foul hearts, I shall recall that I am doing it for **you**, Robin._

_They – and the further beasts and monsters that walk the Night's Plutonian Shore; eyes with all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before—_

_They shall walk this Earth—_

_Nevermore._

**END**


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